Reincarnated as a blue dragon, he collided head-on with a wizarding civilization.

With a roar from the dragonborn kobold, the two pincer-mouthed scorpions moved simultaneously.

They flanked from both sides, their jet-black shells standing out starkly against the grayish-white rocks, their eight slender legs moving swiftly across the ground with a rustling sound.

The scorpion on the left pounced first, its two huge pincers opening to their maximum, aiming to clamp down on the shark's forelegs.

The scorpion on the right circled around to its side and rear, its stinger raised high, aiming at the gap in the scales on the shark's back.

That's the vital spot for most reptiles; once injected with venom, it can render an opponent of the same level incapacitated within the time it takes to brew a cup of tea.

This is their usual hunting method.

A frontal restraint combined with a backhand attack—simple yet effective.

There were at least eight or ten mud-type monsters that died from their combined attack.

Sha Bai didn't even try to dodge.

The left pincers gripped its front leg with a crisp snap.

The pincers of the scorpion were strong enough to break the bones of ordinary rotten monsters, but when they clamped onto the silvery-white scales of the shark, they didn't even leave a mark.

The scorpion seemed to pause for a moment, then tightened its pincers, making a creaking sound at the joint of its carapace, but the shark-white scales remained unmoved.

Sha Bai glanced down at the scorpion.

His gaze was indifferent, as if he were looking at a docile insect.

Then it opened its three serrated edges and took a bite.

"Click—"

The scorpion's entire head was bitten off, and fragments of its carapace and bodily fluids sprayed out, the dark green liquid splattering onto the grayish-white rocks, bubbling and hissing.

The white shark spat out the food residue in its mouth, licked its teeth with its tongue, and without even looking, swept its tail across the surface.

The tail swept across with a whooshing sound, striking the scorpion that had attacked from behind with pinpoint accuracy.

"Snap—"

The scorpion flew out like a catapult projectile, crashing into a grayish-white rock. The sound of its shell shattering was as crisp as crushing dry twigs.

Its six legs twitched a few times, its tail stinger drooped limply, venom seeped from the tip and dripped onto the gravel beneath it, then it remained still.

It took no more than two breaths.

The kobold's vertical pupils suddenly contracted.

Its hand holding the pickaxe trembled slightly, and the red light on the pickaxe head also quivered.

The dragonborn kobold's limited rationality told it that the white dragon before it was much stronger than before, and it should retreat as soon as possible, running as far away as possible, hiding in the crevices of rocks, hiding underground, until the two dragons left the rocky hill.

However, the madness unique to the red dragon in its bloodline urged it to go up and fight it hard, smash this annoying creature to pieces, peel off its scales to wear as fur, and pull out its teeth to wear as a necklace.

Two ideas collided in its limited mind, messing up its meager rationality.

Before it could think any further, the white shark had already rushed in front of it.

The silvery-white figure moved as fast as lightning. The kobold didn't even see how it moved before its gaping maw, covered in three layers of serrated teeth, was already right in front of it.

The kobold let out a scream.

The voice contained both fear and madness.

The kobold swung its pickaxe at Shark White's head.

The faint red light on the pickaxe suddenly brightened, carrying a scorching heat. It was the full power of the red dragon bloodline within its body, all poured into this strike.

The pickaxe made a whooshing sound as it cut through the air, and a visible heat wave even rose from the blade.

"clang--"

The deafening clang of metal striking metal exploded in the air above the rocky hill, the sound bouncing back and forth between the rock walls, startling another swarm of gray bats.

The pickaxe slammed solidly into Shark White's head.

The white shark just swayed slightly; a small dent appeared on the spot on its head where it had been hit, with the edges turning slightly white, but it wasn't broken.

It shook its head, a hint of surprise flashing in its vertical pupils.

It actually hurts a little.

It only hurt a little, like being hit with a stone, but the skin wasn't even broken.

The dog-headed man's entire arm was numb from the shock.

The pickaxe nearly flew out of his hand, and a tearing pain shot through his hand, with dark red blood seeping from between his fingers.

It staggered back two steps, slipped on the gravel, and almost fell.

A clear look of fear finally surfaced in the dragonborn kobold's vertical pupils, the instinct for survival suppressing the madness in his blood.

It wanted to run away.

The limbs moved before the brain could react; the dog-headed man turned around and tried to crawl into the crevice in the rock.

The crevice was so narrow that only a small creature like it could squeeze in; it was a safe zone it had discovered before.

Once it gets inside, the white dragon can't do anything to it.

But Shark White didn't give it a chance.

It swatted the pickaxe out of the kobold's hand with a single swipe of its paw.

The pickaxe tumbled a few times in the air, its blade reflecting the eerie green light of moss, before landing with a clang on the gravel a few meters away. It bounced twice and then remained still.

The white dragon pressed down on the kobold's head with its other claw, slamming it hard to the ground.

The kobold's face was pressed against the gravel, the cold rocks digging into its short snout, the sharp edges of the gravel piercing its cheeks.

Its limbs struggled desperately, its claws digging furrows in the ground, sending pebbles flying, but the white shark's strength was so great that it couldn't move at all, as if a mountain was pressing down on it.

"Look at yourself now, you're absolutely ridiculous!"

Shark White lowered his head, his vertical pupils filled with mockery, his three-layered serrated edges parted, and his voice was slow and leisurely.

"Where did your former glory go?"

The kobold did not answer.

Or rather, it answered, but only with a meaningless roar.

The roars were indistinct, as if something was stuck in its throat, or as if its tongue had become unresponsive.

With its body bound, the kobold's vertical pupils flashed with fear one moment and were overwhelmed by madness the next. Its pupils dilated and contracted, as if something was fighting inside its head.

This is the price of blood extraction technology.

Motu stood behind the rocks not far away, quietly watching this scene.

The Dragonborn kobolds produced by the Dragon's Nest Legion in cooperation with the Tower of Holy Blood have varying levels of intelligence, and the price for gaining high combat power is that they must struggle with the madness in their bloodline for the rest of their lives.

This kobold was relatively lucky; at least it still instinctively built its den, kept pincers scorpions, and used a pickaxe.

But in life-or-death situations, the forcibly activated bloodline will still overwhelm its already limited rationality, turning it into a beast that only knows how to roar.

"Alright, Shark White, stop playing around."

Motu emerged from behind the rocks, his brows slightly furrowed, but his words were calm.

Shark White glanced down at the kobold.

In the dragonborn kobold's vertical pupils, fear and madness flickered alternately, and the roar gradually turned into a sob.

That sobbing wasn't a plea for mercy; it was simply the instinct of a life that had only been lucid for a short time and was nearing its end.

"Click—"

The kobold's head was bitten off completely.

Dark red blood gushed from the severed neck, splashing onto the grayish-white gravel with a soft hissing sound.

That's the burning property unique to the red dragon's bloodline; it can even slowly erode stone.

The kobold's body twitched a few times, its limbs kicked wildly on the ground, its claws leaving the last few grooves in the gravel, before it went limp and lay still.

The row of tiny keratinous protrusions on the back gradually lost their luster, fading from dark red to grayish-white, like a row of withered thorns.

Shark White spat out what was in its mouth, wiped its mouth with its paw, and grinned at Motu.

"That feels good."

Blue Dragon paid no heed to this; he merely glanced at the pickaxe lying quietly among the rubble in the distance, then slowly walked towards it, ignoring everything else.

"There are runes engraved by a wizard on that pickaxe."

This dragonborn kobold seems to have actually found something interesting in the junkyard.