The World's Ridge Mountain Range in the North stretches for hundreds of miles from west to east. Near the concealed forests, there is a southern branch, also the source of the Miral River. Towering peaks are enveloped in mist throughout the year. Even now, in summer, the sunlight cannot pierce the thick clouds. Every daylight hour feels like dusk, dim and damp, deeply cold.

From the top of a high mountain conifer, deep and prolonged breathing can be heard. Standroad, hidden against the lush backdrop, blends impeccably with his youthful green dragon scales. He folds his wings, lowers his frame, and squats on the branch of a White-bark Pine, his long tail dangling naturally.

"No one can discover my stealth," Standroad thought confidently, completely ignoring the White-bark Pine beneath him, which moaned as the trunk leaned significantly, swaying in the wind.

The young dragon's gaze is firmly fixed on a mine entrance half a mile away. At nightfall, the light-shunning grey dwarven miners would emerge in droves, returning to the taverns and dens at the base of the mountain, making them difficult to ambush. This three-mile open space was his hunting grounds.

Standroad vividly remembers, six months ago, diving past the exterior of the mine, the screams and chaos of the grey dwarves providing immense delight. Especially watching these selfish, despicable subterranean beings expose their true nature in the face of disaster—tripping over each other, using their kind to gain time, eventually even fighting among themselves. The spectacle was utterly amusing to the green dragon.

From fifteen grey dwarves on his first attempt to thirteen the next month, then seven, and shockingly only three the fourth time. Standroad was initially puzzled by the increasing difficulty of his hunts. After a harsh interrogation (taking a dwarf high into the sky, heights that terrify their kind), he learned of a foreman named Dunback who had organized them to resist the green dragon's hunting.

This infuriated Standroad. He felt it necessary to teach these lesser beings a lesson, emphasizing that submission is the correct attitude to adopt in the presence of a dragon.

From within the mine, the rumble of carts and the crunch of frost-covered wooden rails could be heard. A group of stocky, sturdy grey dwarves, each less than five feet tall, emerged. Standroad squinted, trying to identify Dunback among them. Their similar appearances made it difficult, distinguishable only by beard and hair. They wore filthy hessian coats, leather belts around their waists. For ease of mining, their grey-white or light brown beards had been braided, tied with iron rings, and tucked into their vest layers, increasing the difficulty of recognition.

As Standroad watched intently, suddenly, a sharp pain in his right eye—he realized a pine needle had fallen into his eye socket. He blinked vigorously, attempting to dislodge the needle to no avail, grimacing in pain. He extended his forked purple tongue in an attempt to reach it, realizing he had grown too quickly—five years ago, he could easily clean his eyes with his tongue. Eventually, he used his claw to rub his eye vigorously, causing the pine to sway back and forth.

"There he is!"

A dwarven cry of alarm, and to Standroad's shock, his perfect stealth had been compromised.

Standroad stretched his wing bones, revealing his blue-green dragon wings, and kicked forward with force, breaking the White-bark Pine with a creak. With a few run-up steps, he took flight, casting a massive shadow over the bleak landscape.

As a large dragon, Standroad's wingspan was an impressive 36 feet. His nose featured forward-facing sharp spikes, and his majestic horned crown extended diagonally backwards instead of upright. Curved bone spikes lined his spine, emitting sharp whistles when he flew. His claws were dark green, covered in fine, hard scales, and keratin layers, with four toes—three facing forward, one back.

Standroad took a deep breath, unleashing a powerful roar.

"ROAR!!!"

The dragon's roar echoed between the peaks, triggering several minor avalanches in the distance.

Surprisingly, the grey dwarves did not scatter in panic as usual but gathered into a team and advanced steadily.

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Standroad swooped over the grey dwarves, frightening them into a crouch, but their formation remained intact as they continued to flee. Narrowing his eyes, Standroad realized someone was coordinating the formation—surely, it had to be Dunback.

Turning in mid-air was a cumbersome task for the large dragon; his massive size limited his turning radius. He had to fly a large half-circle from afar to turn back around. Standroad planned to dive-bomb them to shatter their courage. But upon his return, his dragon eyes widened in surprise.

Each dwarf had produced a wooden shield made of vines and planks, holding them overhead. As shield touched shield, their formation became a thick, yellow caterpillar. Standroad's talons grazed the shield formation, scattering splinters and momentarily exposing a few dwarves, causing a brief disruption.

Right as Standroad waited for the joke to unfold, from within the group, a bald dwarf with golden earrings, a symbol of status, shouted, "Don't stop, those with shields and those without, squeeze together, two per shield, continue advancing! We're safe at the base of the mountain!"

Standroad growled low, recognizing that this was Dunback. Since diving was ineffective, he decided to land ahead of the group. The dwarves hesitated for a few seconds before splitting into two columns, attempting to circumvent the green dragon. Standroad turned sideways towards them, lifting his dragon tail for a sweeping move along the ground!

Dust and stones flew, the ground was upheaved, and the leading grey dwarves were sent flying back, crashing into the dwarves behind them, breaking the shield formation instantly.

The green dragon chuckled, sweeping them down. He saw the bald Dunback glance at him in terror, discarding his shield to flee desperately. But how could dwarven short legs outrun a dragon? Standroad caught up in a few steps, extending his claw for a grab.

The assured grasp astonishingly missed its target; he scraped away the topsoil, infuriated to discover a pit in the ground. The pit was short but turned ninety degrees a few feet down—a clever escape. Standroad dug a few times before giving up to chase other dwarves.

Unbeknownst to him, the dwarves had dug many scattered pits along their path. The moment a green dragon approached, they dived into the earth. When he turned back, Dunback was crawling out to continue his escape, leaping into another pit as Standroad approached.

Standroad’s neck scales stood on end in frustration. After roaring twice, he calmed down. Of course, he could breathe dragon fire into the pits or dig one dwarf out to the end, but wouldn’t that be admitting defeat to the dwarves' intelligence? He was a wise, cunning True Dragon, not a beast!

The green dragon took to the skies, pondering the habits of the grey dwarves—he knew too little about these lesser beings. They worshipped the strong, were fierce, selfish, and combative... Selfish, hmm, that could work.

He changed tactics, circling around the scattered dwarves, forcing the isolated ones to turn back. While flying, he gradually reduced the diameter of the circle, herding them toward the center.

Dunback panted as he ran, already visualizing the chimney smoke of the tavern at the mountain base. Surviving this ordeal would elevate his prestige and authority. He fantasized about being hoisted high, cheered on with cries of "Long live Dunback!" As long as he continued his wise command, charging each worker an extra ten pounds of ore seemed reasonable. If anyone thought it too much, well, they would be squeezed out of the shield formation next time... His greedy thoughts were interrupted by another dwarf stumbling into him.

"Hey! I'm your leader!" Dunback cursed. Turning, he saw his kin driven into a group, contemplating re-establishing the shield formation when a shadow loomed overhead, and the dwarves dove into the ground.

Dunback leaped for the nearest pit, finding it already crowded with three others. The outermost, with a few kicks, pushed him out, "Find another, you'll draw the green dragon's attention to us!"

"You filthy progeny of Zor! Digging pits was my idea, I'm the leader!" Dunback lashed out, hurriedly diving for other pits, but with scarce pits and many people, he was kicked out again.

"You...," he began to curse, but the heavy breathing behind him cut him off.

Standroad lowered his neck, looking at the trembling grey dwarves, and said in a tone half-mocking, half-serious in the common language: "Hello, Dunback."

Dunback's entire face trembled, "H-hello... ah!"

The green dragon grabbed Dunback and flew up, the dwarf screaming all the way. Standroad roared to the ground, "Thank your brave Dunback! Today, I'll only take him! Whoever else is 'brave' next time will meet this fate!"

The grey dwarves crouched in the pits, watching the dragon fly higher and higher, realizing he had indeed taken only one dwarf, and cheered as if spared from doom.

"Long live Dunback!"

"I'll take good care of your wife, Dunback! Long live!"

"Dunback... damn it! He vomited on my head during lunch!"

Standroad soared to 500 feet, then folded his wings for a free fall. The ground approached rapidly, the dwarf's screams crescendoing. Unfolding his wings at the last moment, the air blasted with a thud, and he glided just above the ground.

Flying to a cliff's edge, below was a dense coniferous forest. Standroad, leisurely flapping his wings, hung Dunback upside down over the forest, asking, "How does it feel, grey dwarf, thrilling, isn't it?"

Dunback could only vomit upside down, unable to speak.

"Oh... what a pity, it seems you're not enjoying it. Maybe we should try something different." The green dragon descended to ten feet above a sequoia's treetop and threw the dwarf down. The sound of branches snapping followed. Standroad entered the conifers, where dense trees hinder other giants, not green dragons. His scales, smooth as a snake's, allowed him to squeeze through tree gaps, his hard nose piercing the foliage ahead.

He saw the dwarf hung on the tree, bloodied, smiling and pondering, "Now, how shall we play? Shall I put you in a barrel and roll you down the mountain, or..."

Standroad halted mid-laugh. The sequoia suddenly came to life, the branches holding the dwarf slowly withdrawing from his clothes, while other branches gently supported him, passing him down until gently placed on the ground. The tree trunk formed an elderly face, whirls for eyes and bark creases for a beard.

Standroad, who loathed his prey being stolen, dug his claws into the ground, wings spread wide. "Old Druid, what do you intend?"

The tree-face slowly moved its jaw, expelling a beetle, and said, dryly and slowly, "It's not fun to play with your workers, remember, he is a belonging of your mother—Lady Bloodfall, young master Standroad."