Red Dragon

Looking west from the human kingdoms, one could see a long, winding road. Following it deeper into the distance led to a vast, boundless wilderness.

This was monster territory, home to endless wilds, range upon range of mountains, vibrant forests, and an inland lake that stretched beyond the horizon.

A black-feathered, red-beaked hawk swept across the vast plains, its golden eyes fixed on the red-and-green grasses below as it searched for prey to fill its belly. At last, it flew into a nameless mountain range and landed.

Looking up from the foot of the mountains, one could see a broad cave near the summit of the tallest peak. Hazy smoke drifted faintly from within, and the pungent stench of sulfur hung in the air.

Chilier Solaris Burnnest... lay quietly in her lair. A young red dragon, she had laid the first clutch of eggs in her draconic life twenty-two months ago, and now the time had come for them to hatch.

Not far in front of her was a fire pit ringed with rocks. The charcoal inside had yet to burn out and gave off intense heat, warming the four enormous crimson eggs around it and keeping their temperature above a hundred degrees at all times.

Just then, one of the oval eggs suddenly rocked. A crisp crack followed, and a web of fractures spread across the shell. A round little head poked out from within.

The darkness, the cramped space, and the pressure holding him tight on all sides made the young man struggle instinctively.

He planted his limbs against the ground and shoved his head upward. A barrier that was not particularly sturdy promptly shattered, the pressure around him abruptly eased, and a distinctive smell reached his nostrils.

He opened his eyes in a daze, only to find himself in unfamiliar surroundings. Dark brown stone walls enclosed him, while a crimson "mountain range" lay sprawled before him.

As his mind gradually cleared and he finally saw what the "mountain range" looked like, his pupils abruptly contracted, and his heart nearly stopped from fright.

That was no mountain range. It was a horned, scale-covered beast.

More than seventeen meters long, with a wingspan of nearly twenty-three meters, it was covered in crimson scales that gleamed like metal. A pair of horns curved backward from its head. It was unmistakably a red dragon, the kind that appeared only in fantasy stories, and it was staring fixedly at him.

Where was this?

Who was he?

What had happened?

The three questions of life surfaced in his mind. The red dragon before him seemed to be growing impatient; its charcoal-red eyes narrowed slightly, and its mouth opened to reveal snowy-white fangs.

At that moment, as if struck by inspiration, a powerful impulse surged up inside him, and he immediately roared:

"Sol Heliozog Aesemog Ringtide Burnthroat..."

As he roared out his dragon true name, the young man instantly felt the tense atmosphere around him ease. The ferocious red dragon before him also settled lazily back down.

Only then did he realize that he had been reborn as a red dragon hatchling, and the red dragon before him was this body's mother.

Yet that discovery did nothing to set his mind at ease.

The strongest and most vicious of the chromatic dragons, red dragons had never cared for family. If Tiamat did not punish them for casually abandoning their eggs, more than ninety percent of red dragons would probably choose to leave the eggs they laid to their fate.

The same was true of the other chromatic dragons, so the hatching rate of chromatic dragon eggs was far lower than that of metallic dragon eggs.

Even if their eggs hatched, they would not take good care of their offspring. They would usually do the bare minimum before driving their young out of the lair.

As a result, chromatic dragon hatchlings had an extremely low survival rate. Around fifty percent of blue dragon hatchlings survived, compared to around forty percent for green, white, and black dragons. For red dragon hatchlings, the figure was less than thirty percent.

Recalling this information, which he had seen somewhere in his previous life, the young man shuddered and grew even more cautious.

After crawling all the way out of his shell, his body still covered in wet slime, Sol turned his head to examine himself.

He was a little over a meter long, about the size of a foal. His large head sat on a short neck, tender red scales covered his body, and a pair of limp, fleshy wings lay against his back.

Even true dragons, creatures at the top of the food chain, still looked very weak at birth. Their claws were not sharp enough, and their scales had yet to harden. Probably the only thing they had that could do any damage was their mouthful of fangs.

What was the first thing a newborn hatchling should do?

Thinking back to the wildlife programs he had watched in his previous life, Sol realized he should first lick the slime off his body.

That was supposed to be the mother's job, but given a red dragon's temperament, there was no point even thinking about it. He could only twist his flexible neck and lick himself in great swipes.

Once his body was mostly dry, he turned his attention to the broken shell on the ground and began crunching away at it.

These eggshells protected true dragons before they hatched and served as their first feast afterward. Not only were they rich in energy, but they also contained various precious substances and trace elements.

They could activate a young dragon's body, provide the energy needed for its initial growth and development, and quickly harden its scales and claws.

Perhaps his sense of taste had changed, but the eggshell he had expected to taste terrible was exceptionally delicious to Sol.

Before he knew it, every fragment of shell scattered across the ground had gone into his stomach. Drowsiness gradually crept over him, but instead of falling asleep, he turned to look at his brothers, who had yet to hatch.

The three remaining dragon eggs had begun to shake, and a dense network of cracks appeared across them with crisp cracking sounds.

Dragging his little bulging belly along, he crept over, picked up a fallen fragment, and popped it straight into his mouth.

Before long, the remaining three hatchlings broke out of their shells one after another. Two managed to shout their long, tongue-twisting true names, but the last made no sound at all.

Chilier's eyes narrowed dangerously. She had not expected an inferior dragon beast to appear in her very first clutch.

Without the slightest hesitation, she reached out with an enormous claw, picked up the newborn wyrmling, and turned to leave the lair.

The three wyrmlings watched the scene in fear, not daring to move a muscle.

When two of them were roused by the hunger in their bellies and began eating their shells as instructed by their draconic inheritance, they discovered that a great deal of their shells had somehow disappeared.

The two wyrmlings instantly flew into a rage and turned to look at the "thief" beside them.

Still clutching a piece of eggshell in his claw, Sol showed no embarrassment at being caught in the act. He brazenly popped the shell into his mouth, then gave a seemingly provocative belch.

He knew full well that red dragons were powerful, hot-tempered, arrogant, and unruly... Among all their traits, there was no such thing as familial affection.

From birth, hatchlings of the same clutch were already in competition, with no affection between them to speak of. Naturally, it was best to strike first.