Evolving by devouring from a young dragon

After a night's rest, the group continued their journey early the next morning.

As dawn broke, Grimm mounted his horse, his cane tucked under his arm, his left hand gripping the reins, and tapped the horse's rump with the tip of his cane.

Old Ma snorted, took a step, and the wheels started turning, making a rumbling sound.

One carriage after another followed, covered tightly with tarpaulins, the goods tied up tightly with ropes, and the ironware clanged and rattled inside the carriages with each bump.

Grom was wearing light armor today, leather armor with iron plates, which was less than half the weight of yesterday's heavy armor, and he walked much more lightly.

Yesterday, the soles of his feet were chafed raw, but thankfully he had the shaman's ointment. After applying it, walking wasn't as painful today.

He walked on the right side of the convoy, his eyes scanning the bushes on both sides, remaining vigilant at all times.

Bru led the way at the front of the group.

The seven-meter-tall stone giant had an enormous stride, one step of which was equivalent to five steps of an orc.

The shadows cast long lines, covering the road ahead and the front half of the procession, protecting them from the scorching sun.

The fire spirit curled up on his shoulder, its crimson feathers fluttering slightly in the morning breeze. It was still fast asleep, its head buried under its wings, curled into a small ball.

Grimm rode behind Bru, whose shadow perfectly shielded him and the old horse, keeping them cool from the scorching sun.

He tugged at his collar; the sticky robe from yesterday was much drier today, making it much more comfortable to wear.

He glanced back at the convoy behind him.

Three carriages followed closely behind. One of the companions sat in the third carriage, his eyes fixed on the road, while he held the account book in his arms and did not look at it again.

Ahead are limestone hills, the road is difficult to travel, so we have to be careful.

According to the envoy Guqi, the journey would take them through two places: the wasteland and the limestone hills, before they could reach the directly controlled territory of the Eberon Empire.

They didn't encounter any danger in the wasteland. Ahead lay the gray rock hills, where wild magical beasts and wandering orcs roamed, so they had to be constantly vigilant.

Grimm turned back and tapped the horse's rump with his cane, and the old horse quickened its pace.

After walking for about two hours, the road narrowed.

The dirt road, which was originally wide enough for two vehicles to pass side by side, has been reduced to only one vehicle can pass at a time.

On both sides were waist-high withered grass, the stems yellow and white, rustling in the wind, the grass blades scraping against the carriage.

The wheels rolled over the road surface, which was a mixture of gravel and sand, raising a cloud of dust that landed on the grass, covering the blades with a layer of white ash.

One of the orcs slowed his pace, took the spear from his shoulder, and gripped it tightly with both hands in a defensive stance.

Another man circled around the left side of the convoy to the front, bent down close to the ground, and listened intently. After a moment, he stood up, left the rear of the convoy, walked to the middle of the convoy, and drew a short axe from his waist and held it in his hand.

Grimm reined in his horse, which snorted and pawed the ground twice with its front hooves. He pulled his cane from under his arm and held it in his hand.

Grom drew his short sword half an inch from its sheath, moved to the right front side of the convoy, and fixed his gaze on the dense grass on both sides.

Overgrown weeds obscured his view, and the scene deep inside remained completely obscured. He pricked up his ears, filtering out any noise, to catch any unusual movements.

All eyes turned to the bushes on the left.

The grass blades were swaying; it was definitely not the wind that was causing them.

The sound of light, hurried footsteps came from under the grass, and there was more than one person. The continuous clicking sounds made Grimm's palms instantly sweat and his nerves were on edge.

A head slowly emerged from the grass.

They are wandering orcs.

His skin was rough and grayish-brown, his face covered in mud and grass stains, and his hair was tangled and matted.

His tattered leather armor was in disarray, cracked in many places, revealing his coarse linen clothes underneath. In his hand, he held a rusty machete, its blade dull and broken.

He looked up and saw the convoy in the middle of the road, then his gaze suddenly met that of the seven-meter-tall stone giant in front of him.

Blue looked down at him, his rocky face expressionless, his earthen-yellow stone eyes slightly narrowed as he scrutinized him.

The wandering orc shuddered, his machete slipping from his hand and crashing onto the gravel ground with a thud. His mouth gaped open, stunned with fear.

Immediately afterwards, four more heads popped out.

Five wandering orcs huddled at the edge of the bushes, lined up crookedly, their weapons a motley collection: rusty knives, broken spears, and rough wooden sticks bound with stones—all crude and simple.

The leader snapped out of his daze, turned around, and ran away.

He tripped over some dry grass and fell heavily to the ground. Ignoring the pain, he hurriedly got up and ran away, not daring to look back.

The remaining four followed closely behind, casually discarding their weapons, their wooden sticks flying off and hitting the rocks before tumbling down the cliff.

The tall grass shook violently, and the chaotic footsteps faded into the distance, gradually weakening until they disappeared completely into the depths of the wasteland.

"puff!"

Grom chuckled and sheathed his weapon.

Grimm took a deep breath and slowly loosened his grip on the reins and cane.

He did not order a pursuit, remained silent, tucked his cane back under his arm, and lightly tapped the horse's rump with the tip of the cane.

"Walk."

The orcs picked up their spears again and returned to clear the way.

Another orc leaped off the roof of the wagon, sheathed his dagger, and landed back on the left side of the caravan to stand guard. Grom put away his dagger and returned to guard the right side of the caravan.

Blue scratched his head, saw the wandering orc running away, thought for a moment, and decided not to chase after them. He returned to the route and led the way.

At the same time, the Fire Spirit folded its wings, closed its eyes, buried its head under its wings, and fell into a deep sleep again, as if nothing had happened.

……

In his territory, Alduin lay prone on the obsidian table, eyes closed, quietly.

He was not asleep; he was using the contract and the Eye of the Fire Spirit to look down on the outside world.

He formed a symbiotic pact with the Spirit of Ember, their consciousnesses were connected, and he could observe the movements ahead from a distance through the Spirit's perspective.

In addition, the Fire Spirit's inherent characteristics mean that even if it perishes unexpectedly, it can be reborn without any worries.

That's why he felt completely at ease, allowing the Fire Spirit to accompany the convoy on its journeys. He could also use the Fire Spirit's eyes to see the trip and witness the Golden Party.

He pondered for a moment, then stood up and walked out of the dragon's nest. It was time to eat.

The group continued moving forward.

The road through the limestone hills grew narrower and narrower, and the withered grass on both sides grew from waist-high to shoulder-high, and from shoulder-high to taller than a person, making it increasingly difficult for the carriage to move.

Grimm pulled his robe collar tighter to keep the grass from scratching his neck, tucked his cane under his arm, and swayed with the horse's movements.

He glanced at Blue's back; the stone giant walked in front, its seven-meter-tall body pressing the grass to both sides to help clear the way.

Fire Spirit perched on Blue's shoulder, its red fur fluttering in the wind. It woke up, tilted its head to look at the grass on both sides, and after a while, retreated back inside.

Grimm looked away and touched the invitation in his pocket. The gold-embossed edges were rough on his hand, and the parchment was warm from his body heat.

We're almost at Golden City.