After taking a short break to unwind, Saron shifted his focus to the task at hand. The affinity for fire magic he had recently acquired was too valuable to waste. Typically, true dragons seldom study magic from elements other than their own, as it can be uncomfortable for them. However, this doesn't mean they are incapable of using magics from other elements. Saron, for instance, could use illumination spells like before.

True dragons, with their innate elemental control, can force other types of magic into action. But usually, they choose not to. It's not that a water mage can't cast fire spells—it's more about the energy cost. Casting magic outside one's natural element can require more than five times the energy. But with the affinity for fire element, this is no longer an issue for Saron. As long as he can form the spell model, he can cast the magic using Draconic incantations.

"Fireball!" he declared.

The fireball spell is one of the most fundamental in the fire magic arsenal, and its model existed within Saron's inherited memories. Like the illumination spell, its model was relatively simple to construct.

Saron began to gather the fire elements around him, slowly building the structure. It felt oddly like solving a geometry problem from his past life. Unlike with the illumination spell, constructing the fireball spell went exceptionally smoothly for him. If the illumination spell required his concerted effort to build, the fireball spell was a completely different story—it was almost too easy.

The fire elements obeyed him like disciplined soldiers, moving into place with merely a thought from Saron. In no time, a fireball with a diameter of one meter materialized beside him. Comparatively small next to Saron's draconic form, but a successful casting nonetheless.

Boom!

With a deliberate intent from Saron, the fireball hurtled towards the ground and exploded on impact, scattering debris and leaving a charred mark. Saron observed the damage—it was significant, far more powerful than a hand grenade.

Suddenly, an adventurous idea struck him.

He cast the fireball spell again, this time conjuring two spheres of flame. However, instead of the ground, he aimed them at himself.

Boom, boom!

The fireballs struck Saron directly. He inspected the impact areas and found almost no change to his scales. His eyes gleamed with realization.

Gathering his focus, Saron conjured four more fireballs and let them smash against his body. This time, he could clearly sense that about sixty percent of the potential damage was mitigated.

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Saron knew that true dragons, especially those like the plutonium dragons, were completely immune to fire and heat damage. It seemed he shared this trait, albeit not to the same extent.

"Lord Saron, the goblin chief Vicks has arrived!"

Mischa, clad in a short skirt and black pantyhose, approached gracefully.

"The goblin chief? Let him in."

Saron had his eye on Vicks as a high-level talent.

After a short while, Vicks entered tentatively. His ragged clothes seemed out of place in the grandeur of his surroundings, and he clutched a wooden box tightly to his chest—a habit from his days as a slave in the human world.

"Oh great Black Dragon, your humble servant presents a gift to you!"

Vicks knelt, raising the box aloft with humility. Mischa stepped forward to take the box, which Vicks offered without daring to lift his head.

Mischa brought the box to Saron and opened it, revealing lustrous, blue-glowing metal ingots.

"Your Majesty, this is the refined mithril!" Vicks informed.

"Not bad," Saron murmured, his large eyes fixed on the mithril.

Although he wasn't well-versed in smelting techniques, the quality seemed impressive. To Saron, there wasn't much difference between consuming raw ore or refined mithril, but the material was still crucial to him.

Whether it was for arming his followers or trading for other supplies, Saron knew the mithril would be valuable. After all, he wasn't yet strong enough to simply take what he wanted by force.

"From now on, you'll oversee the extraction and smelting of the mithril ore. My only requirement is the yield—both the ore and the smelted mithril," Saron declared, looking down at Vicks with authority.

"At your command!" Vicks replied ecstatically, then exited with a humble gait.

Mischa remained silent throughout, her curiosity piqued by Saron's trust in a goblin.

"Mischa, the mithril is yours to keep. There should be enough to forge a couple of short swords," Saron offered.

"Oh! Thank you, Lord Saron!" Mischa's rabbit ears perked up and twitched, a sure sign of her delight.

Saron understood that Mischa's emotions were often conveyed by her ears: drooping when sad or distressed, and bouncing when happy, like now.

"It's a shame we don't have a skilled blacksmith, or we could forge something even better," Mischa remarked, eyeing the mithril.

...

"What should we do, Captain Volk? The mithril vein has already been tapped by these creatures," one of Volk's men said, grimacing as they watched goblins and gnolls steadily mine the ore.

"We report back to Lord Talrum. With the forest trolls guarding, we stand no chance alone," Volk decided swiftly. Their scouting mission was essentially complete. They had found remnants of the Slaver's Guild, likely victims of the forest trolls.

Facing an enemy that could decimate a slaver's band was beyond their capabilities. They retreated into the cover of the trees and left the area undetected.

After a few hours, they reached the camp and reported to Talrum.

"Lord Talrum, the Slaver's Guild is wiped out, and the mithril vein has been taken by forest trolls!" Volk delivered the intelligence they had gathered.

Talrum, sipping his wine, relished the sweetness on his tongue.

"So the intel on the mithril vein was accurate," he mused.

"Yes, Lord Talrum! The reserves are substantial," Volk confirmed.

"The forest trolls shouldn't be this formidable," Talrum set his cup down, his family had encountered those trolls before. They were strong, indeed, but not enough to wipe out an entire orc tribe and still manage to overpower his slaver's band.

"Lord Talrum, shall I lead a force to probe their defenses?" Volk suggested.

"No need. The Waltran family must secure that vein, regardless of what tricks the trolls have up their sleeves," Talrum's eyes gleamed predatorily. The mithril was too crucial for his family to let go.

"But with just our hundred men..." Volk hesitated.

Talrum glanced at him, "I understand. Our numbers are insufficient, regardless of the trolls' strength. I will request reinforcements from the family."

"Not just the family guards."

"The Savage Shields will also take action."

"The Savage Shields!" Volk's expression turned grave.

He hadn't expected the family to take such drastic measures, but the involvement of the Savage Shields denoted the seriousness of the situation.

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