Red Dragon, but chosen by all four gods

"Lord Dragon, the fields in this village have been cultivated!"

Little Corleone, carrying a sickle, earnestly reported his work progress to Mortal.

"From here south, there are three more abandoned villages. At this rate, it will probably take another 10 days..."

Mortal listened to Corleone's report and irritably flicked his tail.

She didn't want to stay in this desolate wilderness. Her carefully honed claws and polished scales had lost their luster due to her recent travels.

Despite his frustration, Mortar still had to diligently complete the task assigned by Heros.

"Besides farming, is there anything else? How do those mortals treat you?"

"The villagers were incredibly hospitable to us. After we successfully grew our crops, they all knelt down and praised us!"

Upon hearing this, Motar's mood improved considerably.

"Is there anything else?"

"And..." Little Corleone scratched his head and began to think.

Mortal hopes that Corleone Jr. will give a different answer.

Although she was only assigned one task: to supply food to these disaster-stricken villages.

But such work is obviously not as eye-catching as direct combat results.

She heard that Ferdom had already made some progress, and she had obtained information on the whereabouts of many suspicious outsiders.

Hopefully, she can also gain something else from this side.

In this way, in front of her brother, she not only completed her own task, but also a part of Faldom's task.

The elder brother will know who the most capable dragon is.

Little Corleone hesitated for a moment, then said, "Many little girls have expressed their admiration for the Dragon Lord and wish to pay their respects to you."

"What's so strange about that?"

"It wasn't just a little girl from one village; it was from several villages..."

Corleone pondered for a moment and said:

"Although they are all locals, little girls from several villages have come with us to leave their villages, hoping to meet you."

"I think there must be some problems here."

"Since you discovered it, why didn't you say so sooner?"

"They don't have much power," Corleone explained. "They're physically weak, you can easily shake them off, and they don't have any magical energy fluctuations; they're just mortals."

Upon hearing this, Motar also fell into thought.

She trusted Corleone's judgment; as a green dragon adept at self-preservation, she could also discern something unusual in this description.

These little girls don't possess magic, so they shouldn't suffer the same effects as before when the lich hid magical rituals within their bodies.

After a moment's thought, Mortar instructed, "If this happens again, have them write a letter and bring it back to me."

Little Corleone asked, "Writing letters... only nobles can read. I only started learning to read after entering the Golden Dragon Court. How come these village girls can write?"

"If they were just a group of little girls, they naturally wouldn't be able to write. But if they have someone behind them, they'll have to learn to write even if they don't know how."

"Motal said calmly."

Little Corleone suddenly realized that although he was smart, his thinking had always been stuck on specific work tasks.

In terms of intrigue and scheming, they can't compare to the Green Dragon, whose inherited memories are full of the experience of his predecessors.

……

Three days later, after planting and ripening crops for another village, young Corleone returned with a letter written on a leather scroll.

Motar smiled knowingly.

However, she did not take the letter, but instead had Corleone read it to her.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

To the ruler of the forest, the venomous Jaw, the emerald dragon lord:

Your wings belong to the sky, not to be bound by the shackles of the golden dragon;

We feel your pain, and we are willing to listen to your anger.

We gaze upon the course of destiny, we know the right future.

If you are willing, every time the silver moon hangs high, a silent song will rise, guiding you toward freedom.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The scroll used for this letter was very rough and poorly cut.

The letter was unsigned, and the handwriting on the scroll was crooked and messy, more like a drawing than a writing.

Motar smiled after hearing this.

"So inexperienced."

"Dragon Lord, why do you say that?"

Mortal was in a good mood, so he began to explain to young Corleone:

"Since you've chosen to send this letter, it means the person hiding behind it has no choice but to reveal themselves."

"Oh, I see."

Little Corleone nodded and carefully memorized the wisdom imparted by the Dragon Lord.

"Dragon Lord, what should we do?"

Motar did not answer immediately, but pondered for a moment before waving him away.

After Corleone left, Mortal muttered to himself, analyzing the situation.

"This group believes I'm bound by the Golden Dragon Lord..."

Motar couldn't help but smile.

"The Golden Dragon Lord doesn't care about binding us at all; she only cares about her brother."

"Of course, we are not submitting to the Golden Dragon Lord, but following in our brother's footsteps."

"How could these fools understand how powerful my brother's potential is? It's just a few 'gifts' that fall from his claws, opportunities that other dragons would beg for."

"How dare these people claim to know destiny? Can't they see the truth that my brother will rule the world?"

"My position will be beside my brother, second only to Yi Long..."

Thinking of this, Motar couldn't help but fidget a little.

They're way too far from the age when they can go into heat, so do dragons really experience what mortals call love?

Motar shook his head, forcibly bringing his thoughts back.

"Since they want to do something, let's see what they can do."

"Corleone!"

Little Corleone had just left when he heard the Dragon Lord's exchange and hurriedly ran up the mountain.

"Go and return the letter. Remember, you must return it to the little girl who gave it to you."

"Lord Dragon, aren't we supposed to write anything in the letter, or have me convey something verbally?" Little Corleone asked, somewhat puzzled.

No, there's no need for that.

Motar said, "The true mastermind doesn't need to explain or promise anything to anyone."

"Just return this letter to them and let them know that I have received it. Don't say anything else."

"Remember, only the outcome they imagine themselves will best reflect their weaknesses."

"All we need to do is identify their weaknesses and then strike."

"Oh...yes, I understand!"

Young Corleone was clever; with just a few gentle words from Mortal, he immediately understood Mortal's meaning.

He marveled at the Dragon Lord's wisdom as he hurriedly ran down the mountain.

Motar then spread his wings and flew towards the center of Grey Hill Island.

If someone isn't proactive in taking credit, there's something wrong with their thinking.

As for dangerous work involving contact with outsiders...

The elder brother will entrust this matter to the dragons who do dirty work; some dragons are born to do dirty work.

Otherwise, how could her nobility be shown?