A Dragon against the Whole World

At the same time, the voices of the Golem Manipulators sounded through amplifiers.

The goblin warriors, coordinating and following around the golems, also shouted together.

[The furnace is our holy hall, the wrench is the scepter of prayer!]

[Black oil boils in the veins, gears sing in the chest!]

[Crush those fleshy bodies!]

[When the rust of copper stains the earth red, civilization truly begins to grow!]

The goblins’ voices were unpleasant, sharp, harsh, noisy, and far from synchronized. Some were as grating as nails on glass, others were as hoarse as a grindstone on scrap iron. Yet, on the battlefield, they eerily interwove into waves, accompanying the heavy steps of the Alchemy Golems and the roar of engines, gradually merging into an overwhelming sense of pressure.

[Gold coins! Gold coins! Paving the road to the heavens!]

[Dismantle everything! Dismantle everything! Even the gods’ ribs have a price tag!]

[Today we write poetry with cannonballs, tomorrow we forge steel in enemy camps!]

[The smile of the Great Workshop Master is the dawn of a new world!]

The goblins sang loudly, their bodies trembling slightly, their eyes revealing an excited glow, their morale unprecedentedly high.

"Indeed, these are not ordinary goblins, to have such morale."

Galos squinted slightly, thinking that the Molten Iron Tribe also needed a war song.

"Facing the Alchemy Corps of the Golden Tooth Tribe head-on, there’s a chance to win, but it would certainly be with heavy losses."

"However, we have already prepared for this."

The voice of Iron Dragon Solrog echoed directly from Galos’s mind through a psychic link.

Immediately after, the war began.

The young dragons seemed frightened of the Alchemy Corps, dared not land, and did not act rashly. They only circled timidly in the sky, occasionally using some modestly effective long-range skills that could be mostly ignored, including the previously ferocious Red Iron Dragon.

Facing the high morale and relentless advance of the Alchemy Corps.

The Molten Iron Warriors couldn’t resist the iron edge and retreated as they fought. At the cost of numerous Jackal-Wolf Folk and Kobold lives, and a few elite ones, they temporarily withdrew from their base on the Fertile Plain, with a significant portion being defeated and scattering.

The Fertile Plain, as its name suggests, is a fertile and abundant land.

Across the entire Southwest, the Fertile Plain is the area richest in various resources.

Having occupied the core territory of the Southwest, the goblins, as greedy and miserly as the Dragon Race, naturally wouldn’t give it up easily again.

In previous battles, the Molten Iron Tribe retreated continually, abandoning the Fertile Plain, which was almost equivalent to giving up the Southwest. They probably won’t return any time soon.

"Settle down on the spot! Establish a base."

The Great Workshop Master gave the order.

Immediately, on the battlefield where the gunpowder had not yet dissipated, the goblin engineers were already busy like a swarm of ants.

In the roar of steam shovels, quick-setting cement flowed into the trenches like gray blood, forming temporary walls that visibly grew. The remains of golems destroyed by counterattacks were swiftly dismantled and reassembled—Flesh Ripper’s rotary saw blades were modified into meat grinders on the walls, while Steel Ripper’s torso became the bases of watchtowers.

A month gradually passed.

During this time, the Molten Iron Tribe organized repeated counterattacks to reclaim the Fertile Plain but were repelled by the goblins each time. Moreover, their counterattacks gradually weakened, with fewer and fewer monsters arriving each time, as if they were about to completely give up the area.

During this period.

Because there were many Alchemists in the corps, the Golden Tooth Tribe’s base had already taken shape.

However, this project also consumed a lot of goblin resources, their supplies were running low, but the logistics were on their way and would arrive soon, with little harm done.

It was deep in the night, and the night grew thick.

Great Workshop Master Scott and several Goblin Elders were discussing the next steps of their plans.

Driving the Molten Iron Tribe from the Fertile Plain was just the first step; they wanted to eliminate them completely and bring the Southwest under control.

Suddenly.

A goblin scout rushed into the temporary tent.

"Great Workshop Master, we have discovered an Abyssal Rift!"

As they gradually established a foothold on the Fertile Plain, goblin scouts began to explore farther regions and discovered the presence of an Abyssal Rift.

Besides Scott, several Goblin Elders simultaneously changed their expressions.

An Abyssal Rift?

In the Fertile Plain?

There’s actually a hot potato here! Wait... something seems off.

The Goblin Elder furrowed his brows, whispering, "We defeated the Molten Iron Tribe, but come to think of it, they retreated too quickly, almost like... an orderly withdrawal."

"In their subsequent counterattacks, they seemed to lack the resolve to reclaim the Fertile Plain and often retreated quickly after minimal contact."

They could be considered cunning and sly.

This goblin race, in fact, possesses considerable intelligence. Realizing the incongruities from their earlier victories, the Goblin Elders felt a chill run through their hearts as they began to notice those peculiar details.

"The Molten Iron Tribe has paid the price in blood."

"But the majority of the dead are insignificant Jackal-Wolf Folk and Kobolds."

Another Goblin Elder’s breath grew heavy as he said, "Centaurs, Ogres, Dragons... the casualties among these elites are minimal. The Dragons dominating the Molten Iron Tribe are completely unharmed."

After a brief silence.

The Goblin Elders simultaneously felt a chilling sense of crisis.

"A trap, it’s a trap."

"The Molten Iron Tribe has set a trap using the whole Fertile Plain as bait!"

"Their attack frequency has been low lately, as if they were waiting for something."

The Goblin Elders, belatedly aware, realized the severity of the situation: "This is bad, it’s the food supplies. They are waiting for us to run out of supplies! Speed up logistics support, send more Golems for assistance!"

However.

Their response was a step too late.

Before assistance could arrive, the logistics reported dire news.

They had been attacked, and it was the Dragons themselves who came.

Along a route from the Black Iron Plain to the Fertile Plain, Red Dragons and White Dragons skimmed low over the ground, breathing fire and frost respectively, melting or turning the escorting Mechanical Golems into ice sculptures. The Iron Dragon Solrog simultaneously tore open the chest of one Golem.

Soon after, the last Golem also turned to scrap under the Red Iron Dragon’s onslaught.

From the start of the attack to its conclusion, it took no more than ten minutes.

"The goblins are lost in the illusion of having defeated us, the Dragon Race."

"Little do they know, the real prey is themselves."

The Iron Dragon grinned.

Galos turned and looked toward the direction of the Fertile Plain, speaking slowly: "The true showdown begins now."

Meanwhile.

At the Fertile Plain, the Great Workshop Master decisively ordered a retreat.

The Goblin Warriors had previously been gloating over taking the Fertile Territory, feeling puzzled and confused over the sudden order to retreat.

But they quickly understood the reason.

Before long into the retreat, monsters appeared all over the mountains and plains.

They did not immediately engage in battle, merely following closely at a distance, watching the Alchemy Corps with predatory eyes.

It wasn’t until the Alchemy Corps had withdrawn from the Fertile Plain that the Centaurs began their charge.

At that time, due to the scarcity of supplies, the goblins were mostly hungry, with plenty of black oil remaining but no means to squander it. The Alchemy Golems, lacking sufficient maintenance, could not function at full capacity.

The Molten Iron Warriors were the exact opposite.

They were like wolves, fierce and overwhelming, releasing all the repressed ferocity in one go, like a beast that has been hungry for a long time, its fierce light glaring.

The deep battle song rose again, but it was not the goblin war song, it came from the Molten Iron Tribe.

[Lava in the veins, flames burning between the teeth]

[We don’t just want victory—]

[If we’re fighting, then shatter their skulls!]

[If we’re killing, then let the rivers of blood run dry!]

Realizing that the battle song greatly boosted morale, the Molten Iron Tribe composed the song overnight.

Centaurs, Ogres, Jackal-Wolf Folk... many monsters shouted together, roaring and howling, their Ironhoofs beating the ground, the rhythm of weapons striking shields merging into a wave of sound that shot up into the night sky.

[Fight, for the Dragon Lord!]

[Every wound is a medal! Every drop of blood is a banquet!]

[But is this enough?]

[No!]

[Then tear open more chests! Smash more spines!]

[Until even the moon hides in the bloody clouds, until the sun loses its light!]

Different creatures, different voices, yet they merged into the same battle song, the sound waves soaring into the clouds, making the goblins tremble.

The morale of the Molten Iron Tribe surged, pressing forward step by step.

The Alchemy Corps’ morale plummeted rapidly, relentlessly retreating.

At this moment, it was exactly the same as that moment.

But the difference is that the Alchemy Corps’ retreat was not premeditated; it was forced, and their mobility was inferior to the Molten Iron Tribe.

Run? It’s already too late.