I am a wicked dragon, and you want me to fall into goodness?

Just as the young kobold was about to push his stone spear forward another inch, an old cough rang out from the shadows.

The sound, thick with the spitting noise of phlegm, echoed repeatedly in the silent mist.

The young, dog-headed people who had gathered around instinctively made way for a figure who was so hunched over that he was almost touching the ground, slowly moving out with a moss-covered, withered wooden cane.

His animal hide was more tattered than any of the young kobolds, and his exposed skin was covered with dark brown age spots.

One eye was cloudy, like a glass bead covered in mud, while the other eye was tightly closed, with a dark yellow scab forming in the crease.

But when his nose twitched slightly and he caught a whiff of Bruce's scent, a glint of light suddenly flashed in his cloudy eyes.

"Bruce...?" The old kobold's voice trembled violently.

The moment Bruce heard that voice, the hair on his body trembled violently, as if he had been struck by lightning.

He stood frozen in place, his taut back gradually slumping, and his usually wary eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"A...priest?"

The name was squeezed out from his chapped lips, with a heavy nasal tone.

"You...you're still alive?"

"Of course I'm still alive." The old priest's voice was hoarse with a hint of self-mockery. "What nonsense are you spouting, you brat?"

His cloudy eyes were fixed on Bruce, his gaze swirling with the weariness of nine years: "But you, little fellow, after being away from the tribe for so long, you're still alive?"

"Nine years ago, those big creatures from underground emerged from the ground and began gnawing at the rock walls of our nest, causing half of it to collapse overnight."

His voice paused, carrying an indescribable heaviness.

"The warriors of the tribe fought desperately to resist, but the insects' shells were harder than stones, and dozens of their tribesmen died instantly."

"Back then, I knew the kobolds needed to find a new lair, but alas..."

The kobolds were too weak, and sending them out to find a new lair did not yield ideal results.

Before finding a new nest, the Doghead was attacked by the Rock-Breaking Demon Worms, leaving only a small number of them. They were forced to return from underground to the surface to wander.

"It's all over now," the old priest said. "Bruce, you are a child of our tribe, welcome back."

"Although you did not find a new home for the tribe, you are still a hero of the tribe, and all the kobolds are proud of your bravery!"

The kobolds sent out to find a new lair all placed their hopes on the survival of their tribe.

Even though Bruce didn't find a new nest before the disaster struck, the tribe's priests still acknowledged Bruce's contribution.

The wariness and hostility on the young dog-headed people's faces were instantly shattered, replaced by incredulous astonishment.

Looking at the crisscrossing scars on Bruce's body, and at his weathered yet still resilient eyes, they suddenly understood.

The elderly member of the same clan before me was not some spies of dubious origin.

Rather, they were the heroes who, carrying the hopes of their tribe, plunged headlong into unknown and dangerous lands.

The first to react was the young kobold wielding the stone spear, his voice trembling with excitement: "Hero... Bruce Hero..."

His voice was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, instantly creating ripples.

"Hero! Bruce Hero!"

Shouts rose and fell, breaking through the thick fog, and the young kobolds followed suit, leaping and bounding joyfully in the swamp.

Bruce stood there, looking at the young juniors kneeling before him, their eyes shining with adoration.

He never imagined that he, a wanderer who failed to complete his mission, would be crowned a "hero" and so revered by the younger generation of his tribe.

The old priest, leaning on his cane, watched this scene and smiled, saying, "Child, who are those fairies beside you...?"

Bruce pointed to several fairies and immediately replied, "These are my fairy friends: Leah, Ella, and Finney, and..."

"The Magic Mirror is not your friend," the arrogant Magic Mirror interrupted the kobold.

The old priest nodded: "This is not the place to talk. Let's go back to the lair and tell you about your adventures over the years."

The group trudged through the muddy swamp, following the old priest toward the highland lair.

The fog was blown away by the wind, and one could vaguely see that the nest was made of thick, dead wood and waterproof animal hides, which could barely keep out the wind and rain.

Upon entering the lair, the old priest had the young kobold bring over dried moss to use as a mat, and then took out stored berries to distribute to the fairies.

Finney, unable to contain her excitement any longer, hopped and skipped around, examining the nest with the berries in her hands.

Lia sat quietly to the side, holding the magic mirror, while Ella held Phineas's pancake.

Bruce sat beside the old priest, his voice hoarse, and slowly recounted his experiences over the past nine years.

He recounted how he got lost in the forest, how he was chased by a giant python, how he met the fairies, and how he encountered Pusser.

The old priest listened quietly, his withered hand gently patting Bruce's back, just as he had done when Bruce left.

After Bruce finished speaking, the lair was silent for a long time before the old priest let out a long sigh.

That sigh contained heartache, relief, and endless emotions.

"Thank you, thank you for bringing him back to us. You are honored guests of the tribe, benefactors of the entire kobold tribe."

Fini was startled by the commotion and quickly hid behind Ella, only showing half of her face, holding a half-eaten berry in both hands.

The old priest was silent for a moment: "Bruce, stay. The tribe will still be your home."

"Over the years, the tribe's children have had to figure out how to hunt in the swamp little by little. Your return will be their pillar of strength."

Bruce's Adam's apple bobbed violently as his gaze swept over the young kobolds in the lair: "No, I can't stay."

The kobold, his voice tinged with excitement, took a deep breath and suggested to the elderly priest, "My master is a blue dragon."

"His scales are like steel tempered with ice, and his body is nearly ten meters long, making him extremely powerful."

"The protection of the blue dragon is a hundred times more reliable than the miasma of this swamp!"

"We no longer have to live in fear, and we no longer have to eat the moss in the cave!"

"Priest, haven't we always wanted to follow a dragon? My master needs our people to mine, as long as..."

The old priest slowly shook his head, his cloudy eyes showing no wavering, but rather a complex light flashing within them.

He raised his hand and gently patted the back of Bruce's hand, his voice calm to the point of being almost icy: "Bruce, I understand your feelings."

"But the kobolds have already found true refuge, and found our masters."

The old priest paused, his gaze passing through the nest to the depths of the swamp, where the thick fog seemed to obscure all sunlight.

"Several years ago, a true 'His Majesty' arrived deep in the swamp—a fully grown black dragon over twenty meters long, to whom the tribe had already pledged allegiance!"

The old priest's expression was one of worship and awe: "His scales are blacker than the deepest night, and they can create swamps suitable for kobolds to live in."

"He protects us. We are the followers of the Black Dragon, the humble servants of His Majesty Malcolm, who have always given their lives for him."

"And the 'adult' you mentioned, judging from his size, is just a young blue dragon. He still needs more than a hundred years to reach adulthood."

Is more than a hundred years a long time?

For a true dragon, a hundred years is merely a difference of two age groups.

A fledgling dragon takes five years, a young dragon ten years, a teenage dragon thirty-five years, a young adult dragon one hundred years, and that blue dragon will need more than one hundred years to reach adulthood.

For the weak kobolds, a hundred years is enough for them to reproduce for more than a dozen generations.

With a more powerful Black Dragon King by his side, why would a kobold follow a weaker Blue Dragon?

That's the difference in strength!

"How could a mere young blue dragon possibly compare to His Majesty Malcolm?"