Leopold had barely finished speaking when the cluster of fluorescent jellyfish upstream in the underground river suddenly began to flash violently, as if they had been startled by something.
Blake silenced himself instantly. He released the gravel beneath his front claws, his vertical pupils contracting slightly. Isabella stepped in front of Leopold, warily eyeing the suspicious boulder.
The surface of the underground river was no longer still. Subtle ripples spread up from downstream, circle after circle. The floating jellyfish in the water were pushed aside by the current, drifting to both sides.
Behind the rocks at the upstream bend, a row of amber-orange points of light lit up. One, two, three... It was a row of lanterns hanging high on the cave walls.
Blake reacted before anyone else. He took a sharp half-step back, a threatening hiss rumbling in his throat.
“Who's there?” Isabella asked tentatively.
A short, diminutive figure poked its head out from behind the rock, sporting pointed ears and a large nose. In its hands, it clutched a metal rod longer than its own body, its tip embedded with a glowing ore.
A goblin.
The term surfaced in Leopold's mind. His inherited memories held very few descriptions of this race: he only knew that they belonged to the Fifth Race, lived underground, made a living by mining ore, and possessed a certain level of smithing skill.
“Dragons...” the goblin's voice was shrill, trembling noticeably. “Living dragons?”
Immediately after, two more heads popped out from behind it, with the same pointed ears and large noses, though their eye colors differed. The three goblins squeezed behind the boulder, staring at them in terror.
“Fran, they're real dragons!” one of the goblins shrieked. “Quick, tell the chief!”
Before Leopold could speak, the goblin named Fran had already shrunk back behind the rock.
“Back off, lesser race!” Blake raised his head and barked harshly at the goblins.
What? Leopold cursed inwardly. What was he doing? Was Blake trying to declare war on the goblins here?
Heaven knew how many of them there were or how strong they were. On their side, his own injuries were far from promising, and Isabella and Blake's mana had likely hit rock bottom by now. No matter how one looked at it, starting a fight was not a wise choice.
“Back off? Are you insane?” Leopold lowered his voice, flicking his tail at Blake. “We don't know how many of them there are, nor do we know their strength—”
“The Fifth Race are lowly creatures.” Blake did not turn his head, his tone still dripping with superiority. “The dignity of the dragon clan—”
“What's this about lower or higher? Everyone is equal. Haven't you ever gone to school?” Leopold interrupted Blake testily.
“School? What is that?” Blake turned his head, a trace of confusion flashing in his grayish-blue vertical pupils.
Leopold coughed. “Anyway, just keep your mouth shut for now.”
He stepped past Blake and took two paces forward. Beside him, Isabella kept her wings tense, ready to spring into action at any moment.
Rustling sounds came from behind the boulder, and more orange points of light illuminated the caves on both sides of the underground river. One, five, ten... Leopold did a rough count; at least thirty lanterns had lit up along both banks.
An old goblin stood at the very front, wearing a dark brown robe stitched from coarse burlap.
“Chief,” the goblin named Fran from earlier squeezed to the old goblin's side, pointing a trembling finger at Leopold and the others. “It's these three.”
The old goblin scanned back and forth across the three young dragons. Behind him, the goblins held mining picks and iron bars, their faces fierce.
Blake and Isabella tensed simultaneously, their front claws gripping the rocks as they let out low growls.
Leopold gently nudged Isabella with the tip of his tail, then gave Blake's hind leg a sharp smack. Blake flinched in pain and turned to glare at him, but Leopold ignored him.
“Respected Chief, we mean no harm.” Leopold leaned his head forward slightly, trying his best to make his voice sound gentle.
“A Night Black Dragon, a Grayfrost Blue Dragon, and even a Holy Light White Dragon. How rare.”
Leopold noted that the other party used the word “rare” rather than “dangerous” or “prey,” indicating that they at least harbored no blatant hostility.
“The chief recognizes our bloodlines?” Leopold took the initiative to follow up.
“Hey—” Blake had barely opened his mouth before Leopold smacked him with his tail again. He looked up in annoyance, only to meet Leopold's glaringly suggestive gaze—read the room.
“A black dragon like you is very rare,” the goblin chief said, offering Leopold a smile.
“Respected Chief, may we know your name?” Isabella lowered her head. She understood Leopold's intentions and recognized their current situation.
“I am Grimm,” the goblin chief said with a slight bow, leaning on a wooden staff embedded with three differently colored ores. “The chief of the Bronzebeard Tribe. Young white dragon, you are very polite.”
Leopold let out a sigh of relief. At least the chief seemed reasonable enough to talk to.
“Things are not peaceful up there right now. The angels are hunting, and we can hear the vibrations traveling down through the mountain.” Grimm looked up toward the top of the cave. “The passages above have been sealed, haven't they?”
Blake finally couldn't hold back any longer, whispering in Leopold's ear, “They're fishing for information. Goblins are the best at this.”
Leopold ignored him.
“Chief, we are indeed fleeing from the angels,” Leopold said, lowering his body with an earnest expression. “We mean no harm and only need a way out. If you would allow us to continue downstream along the underground river, we will not disturb your territory.”
The old goblin stroked the sparse whiskers on his chin, squinting as he sized him up.
“Downstream?” The old goblin sneered. “Little one, do you truly not know, or are you just pretending? This underground river plunges into a subterranean fissure. If you go to the end, it is a complete dead end.”
Leopold's heart sank. He looked at Blake, who turned his face away, the tip of his tail tapping irritably against the rock.
“I... I'm not an earth dragon.”
Once Blake finished speaking, a burst of laughter erupted from the goblins on both banks of the river. Blake felt his face grow hot, and he turned his head even further away.
Chief Grimm raised his hand, and the laughter behind him gradually subsided. He looked with great interest at Blake's awkward posture, then turned his gaze back to Leopold.
“Little ones, your luck isn't too bad.” Grimm tapped his wooden staff against the rock. “Angels are not good at tunneling, which is why they sealed the exits above. But do not let your guard down; those winged creatures might still come down to search.”
“So?” Leopold asked instinctively.
“So you have two ways out.” Grimm held up two thick, stubby fingers.
“First, leave yourselves to rot in this pitch-black cave. Second, sign a contract with us and serve the Bronzebeard Tribe forever. In exchange, we will provide food and shelter.”
“In your dreams! The proud dragon clan will never bow!” Blake roared immediately. Isabella also closed her eyes, clearly unwilling to accept signing a contract.
“Won't bow?” he said slowly. “Then you can just starve to death here. The angels upstream could come down at any moment, and downstream is a dead end. You have no choice.”
A series of low growls rumbled in Blake's throat, forcing Leopold to restrain his hind leg with his tail.
“Respected Chief,” Leopold spoke again, trying to keep his voice steady. “Please give us a few days. After all, we need time to consider...”
Rate on N.U.
