Raphael was currently staying in the Eastern Trade Dragon Valley, surveying the entire grand canyon from an elegant courtyard on high ground.

As the morning sun rose in the east, rays of reddish-purple light gradually illuminated every corner of the land, as if shining through the primordial chaos.

From the previous night until yesterday afternoon, he had tirelessly "battled" to gain considerable benefits for himself.

"How about this place? This is the official residence of the valley's chief administrator, built no more than a hundred years ago at the insistence of a progressive dragon councilor who embraced civilization and modern ideas," said Raphael's uncle Old Flame, slowly emerging from an interior chamber built into the terrain, with a number of kobolds following him.

"Have a taste - authentic red dragon cuisine. The lava drizzled on top is sourced straight from the central volcanic range."

He stood up and received the food being held out by one of the kobolds, presenting it before Raphael.

Without hesitation, Raphael snatched it and gulped it down, before resuming his regal posture, gazing into the distance at the Molton River as he awaited the arrival of his fleet.

"Stay calm, will you?" Old Flame chuckled as he crawled up beside him. "You've already reached a satisfactory agreement with the Dragon Council. What are you worried about?"

After two days and nights of intensive discussions, or rather hard negotiations, the Dragon Council had largely met Raphael's demands.

This included establishing a route from the Eastern Trade Dragon Valley to the Molton River and building a port there; preparing supplies each month awaiting Raphael's fleet; provisions comprising food, weapons, draconic scrolls, beasts of burden, and manpower.

Under Herazanthos's leadership, the various dragon councilors contributed a portion of the non-dragon vassals from their own domains to be packaged and delivered to Raphael each month as expendable troops or logistical labor.

These non-dragon-kin vassals were sent away with no prospect of return.

"I'm just concerned for you, my uncle," Raphael said, his draconic head unmoving but with one vertical pupil twisting to fix Old Flame with an ominous gaze. "At first I thought you were truly here to help me at my parents' request, but it seems you have other motives."

"Heh heh, my dear nephew, I'm already two thousand years old. What other motives could I possibly have?" Old Flame shuddered slightly at the deeply distrustful glint in those dark golden dragon eyes, laughing it off.

Raphael had reason for such suspicion. After the resource issues were settled, the dragon councilors demanded "insurance" to guarantee their investment would not be wasted.

However, Raphael refused to sign any spirit pacts, as he simply could not grasp such complex lore and was unwilling to stake his essence on it.

The conservative draconic faction immediately proposed a compromise - dispatching a dragon trusted by both sides to remain at Raphael's side. This would allow monitoring of the habitually untrustworthy evil dragon, while providing combat aid if necessary.

Hoholt and Ruben jointly proposed Old Flame's name, swiftly approved by the conservatives and tacitly accepted by Erl's faction.

There was no overt issue, but this unanimous and expedient process raised Raphael's suspicions that his uncle had deeper dealings and intentions with his former peers.

"There's definitely something fishy going on! But with enemies surrounding me, I can't turn against them yet," Raphael mused, baring his fangs. Even before leaving the council, he had been plotting how to renege on the deal.

According to the verbal agreement, for every inch of new territory Raphael expanded into, the Dragon Council would be entitled to one-tenth.

Not an inch-for-inch claim, but rather a tally and apportioning after each major campaign's cessation.

This was utterly unacceptable to Raphael - he had no habit of regurgitating flesh to share!

"No matter what schemes those old dragons or my uncle have, as long as I remain in my domain, they won't get even a single coin from me!" Raphael inwardly sneered.

A dazzlingly golden dragon soon appeared, its sinuous body reflecting the morning rays.

It approached Raphael from behind in an unnaturally subservient manner, the disparity in size and aura making them seem like father and son.

"G-good morning, Raphael," Arnold greeted meekly.

"You've finally arrived, my dear brother!" Raphael turned and spoke warmly.

Old Flame retreated tactfully. "Let me see how those young dragon are preparing your supplies."

Arnold slunk forward like a misbehaved hatchling. "Truth be told, I never expected you to nominate me as the supervisor."

Prulis's faction could hardly leave intelligence-gathering solely to Old Flame, whose conservative and Erl loyalties raised concerns. They too had to dispatch a dragon to Raphael's side.

Nana could have assumed this duty, but Raphael bluntly stated she had returned home for some reason, currently dwelling alone.

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The old blue dragon Rochester was sorely tempted to demand details, but refrained given the circumstances.

Raphael then proposed having a dragon trusted by both factions take this critical task - the golden dragon Arnold.

Arnold could scarcely believe his ears at the time.

"Of course, we're the very best of brothers," Raphael circled Arnold slowly, his colossal frame exuding an oppressive presence as his twin pupils bored intently into the other.

"I still remember how you spent so much time investigating to help clear my unjust conviction. Not to mention all our youthful adventures together - the Frozen Northern Sea, the Western Demon Forest, the Southern Mountain Ranges, and the Eastern Barbarian Lands. We're like brothers from different clutches!"

An eerie, indescribable golden gleam swirled hypnotically in his draconic eyes.

"Just a small deception, surely under orders from your sire. As one who has yet to become fully independent, I understand the anguish of being compelled to act against your heart."

He enunciated each word beside Arnold's head, puffing his rancid breath and scraping razor-sharp fangs against golden scales, causing the other dragon to shudder.

"I forgave you for that long ago."

"R-really?" Arnold lifted his head in elated surprise. "You truly don't hold that against me anymore?"

Raphael retreated a few steps back. "To be honest, I sometimes forget about it entirely. Only on rare occasions does the memory resurface, and upon careful recollection, it wasn't that significant after all. Time has diluted the grievances in my heart."

"That's wonderful!" Arnold exclaimed, stepping forward to grasp Raphael's claw. "I've been consumed with guilt for betraying a friend and failing to uphold my principles."

The previously dejected golden dragon now radiated a blinding aura, banishing his prior despondency as his heart swelled with renewed vigor and strength.

Watching Arnold fervently embrace him like a lover, Raphael inwardly sneered, "My brother from another clutch, plenty of arduous battles await me in the future. You'd better live up to your abilities!"

Disregarding civility and scruples, in terms of sheer combat prowess, Arnold was certainly no lesser than Raphael - a conclusion they had reached through countless private sparring matches in their youth.

If Raphael had achieved mastery in utilizing every part of his body - shoulders, elbows, fists, wings, horns - to augment his fighting, then Arnold's genius lay in wielding draconic magic with equal finesse.

It was Arnold himself who had taught Raphael his spell immunities.

"I'm so overjoyed today!" Arnold released his clutching embrace with a smile. "Rest assured, this time I will never again betray my heart! Pay no heed to the compulsions of my sire - I stand with you."

Raphael clapped Arnold's shoulder forcefully. "Good brother! I shall gift you a great swath of territory in the future!"

As the two dragons reminisced on their rekindled friendship, a discordant voice interrupted them.

"Hey you! Dimwitted oaf! Come and inventory your stuff!"

Raphael turned to see a young dragon around sixty meters long, his face etched with impatience.

"Dear brother, are all the youths of the Eastern Trade Valley so rude?" He asked Arnold, vertical pupils flickering with menace.

Arnold narrowed his eyes grimly. "I'm not sure, but it doesn't seem like orders from above. Likely just a spoiled dragon brat."

Having endured so much, Raphael would not be provoked into drastic action over a trifle. With a disdainful glare at the insolent youth, he took wing and descended towards the main thoroughfare below.

The Eastern Trade Valley was structured similarly to its western counterpart - its central feature a massive artificially excavated ravine divided into various functional sectors, with the young dragon's coin as sole legal tender. Dragons lacking gold had to sell their wares on credit before purchasing desired goods, with barter strictly prohibited.

"Not bad," Raphael scooped up several dragonbreath artillery cannons from a large camel carriage. The black iron exteriors showed no corrosion or damage - clearly fresh stock rather than long-used requisitioned pieces.

"These are the fruits of our draconic ingenuity," Arnold landed behind him. "Humans cannot be a kindred rival equipped with such weapons."

Raphael shot him a meaningful glance. "Wait until you get a real chance to face them yourself before judging whether they're worthy opponents."

Beside the camel caravan waited around two thousand non-dragon-kin individuals - the "manpower resources" the councilors had conscripted from their domains in a form of slave trade.

Raphael set down the obliterators and crawled over slowly.

"What races are you lot? You seem rather orcs-adjacent," he used his sharp foreclaw to gingerly pick up one of the vassals, who flailed in panic, revealing a reddish-brown tail extending from his spine. His feet had mammalian paws but his hands had elongated, dexterous digits able to grip. A pronounced snout jutted over a toothed maw, with pointed ears atop his head.

"Abba shukka!" A strange, guttural cry laced with sobs erupted from Raphael's claws - clearly not draconic.

"Are you mocking me?" Raphael interpreted the outburst maliciously, considering an execution to cow these new subordinates into obedience through fear.

But another voice, fearful yet brimming with courage, responded in draconic. "Honored great dragon, it did not mock you, but expressed awe, trepidation and pleas for mercy in our vulpine tongue."

The speaker emerged from the vassals - sharing the same vulpine features as the one Raphael held.

"I am Santon, leader of the foxkin here and interim chieftain appointed by these two thousand demihumans."

Raphael regarded the vulpine with interest. "Foxkin? So you're a hybrid of orcs and foxes? Two strains of lowly blood?"

Arnold felt a twinge of misgiving - as an enlightened modern dragon, he respected all sapient races and eschewed such bigoted dismissals, treating his vassals never as mere property.

Yet valuing his friendship with Raphael above all, he remained silent and watched the red dragon's performance impassively.

The word "lowly" made Santon's heart sink - this new draconic lord did not seem approachable.

"If I may, we foxkin and other so-called demihuman tribes bear no relation to orcs," Santon humbly defended their lineage. "Our ancestors were initially crossbreeds of orcs and humans called the 'demihumans' - a stout, hirsute race with dark brown skin."

"Reviled as monsters by humans and brutalized as the lowest slaves by orcs, the demihumans were driven into the feral wilds shunned by civilization."

"Yet they could not breed true among themselves, sterile like mules. However, the demihuman ancestors could interbreed with monstrousities to propagate. To continue their lineages, many interbred with various beasts - only certain pairings proved stable and fertile, one of which gave rise to us foxkin."

To Raphael, more consumed with profit and pragmatism, this obscure tribe's origins seemed a tedious tale.

Arnold interjected, "The original demihumans are now extinct, as human and orcs territories gradually segregated, precluding new demihumans from being conceived between them. Foxkin represent one of the derived demihuman offshoots, living mainly in the Strife Plains and under the Loga Peaks, with some dwelling in the Dragon Domain or human realms. A few still reside in orcs' lands, though they invariably seek escape."

"So your ignoble bloodline mingles both human and orcs," Raphael sneered disdainfully. "I care not for your sob stories, nor any secret missions or signaling devices from your former masters. From now on, you lot must spill every drop of sweat and blood to earn the right to live."

Eyeing the wicked curve of Raphael's corrupted horn, Santon nodded with a sheen of cold sweat. "As you wish."

Ignoring them, Raphael turned to Arnold. "What about your own kin?"

"I don't bring dragon kins," Arnold replied. "That would only burden your resources, and you'd hardly want agents sworn to my sire's will running amok before your eyes."

He smiled at the red dragon, his consideration seemingly sincere.