"This is the situation we're facing at the moment."
The Red Dragon Carador stood beside a scorched long table and spoke to Heragol, who sat across from him.
This was one of the few relatively intact "rooms" in the temporary shelter. It had originally been the pipeline control room of some factory. When the Shockwave struck, this facility, half-buried in the rock strata, had withstood the impact thanks to its sturdy construction, but it had not escaped unscathed—deep cracks ran from the ceiling down the walls, and some had opened all the way to the outside. Howling cold winds poured through those gaps, bringing not only piercing whistles, but bone-chilling cold.
A dragon's physique could ignore such cold, but the psychological blow of being reduced to such desolation was unavoidable.
"How many dragons are in this camp now?" Heragol raised his head and looked toward Duke Mor, who had been silent beside him.
"Two thousand—most are wounded or suffering severe backlash from enhancers and hallucinogens. Fewer than five percent could be called healthy," Duke Mor said. "The good news is that many wounded dragons still have some capacity for work. After emergency treatment, at least, they can help search for supplies. We're also sending search parties out every day to look for fellow dragons who have awakened in the nearby ruins. We've gradually gained quite a few extra hands."
"How far does the search range extend?" Heragol asked.
"For now, it's limited to the area around Agondor, with the western great rift as the farthest point. Supplies are limited, communications are inconvenient, and wandering Elemental Creatures are causing trouble deep in the ruins. The search parties don't dare go too far from camp."
"Elemental Creatures?" Barrogel frowned. "Why are there Elemental Creatures?"
"In the later stages of the battle, the