In the deepest reaches of Dustwallow Marsh, the Goblin Consortium, driven mad by profit, had established an outpost-like village called Mudchain Village. It was not that the goblins had no fear of being devoured by black dragons, but if they could dig up even a single dragon bone that still held magic on the fringes of this scorching land, they could make more than ten times their investment. That was enough to make these money-loving creatures cast aside mortal danger.
Now, however, in this well-equipped goblin village, armored paladins with weapons in hand were preparing for the third wave of battle. The area before the dragon's lair had already become a battlefield. Soldiers bound the towering drakonids with chains, then surrounded and killed them with dozens of javelins. Dragon blood spattered the black earth.
If the drakonids could charge into the soldiers' positions, perhaps just five would be enough to rout the Northern Fortress Recruits. But under the mages' suppression, the vastly outnumbered drakonids could only struggle forward through the storm of spells before being captured from exhaustion or injury, or killed.
There was no suspense in this battle. Although numbers ceased to matter once quality reached a certain level, these pureblood black dragon drakonids clearly were not strong enough!
Fifteen minutes later, when the Argent Dawn's paladins charged onto the battlefield, the last thirty-odd drakonids and whelps still resisting were wiped out. The paladins directed the recruits to clear the battlefield, while the goblins of Mudchain Village had long since set up a purchasing station at the village entrance. These treacherous greenskins would handle all purchases of the spoils. This was also their sole condition for lending their village to Theramore's garrison.
Leaning on his war axe, Dick stood before the towering entrance to the dragon's lair. Its design