“I’ve spent half my life fighting Demons; I’m not very good at dealing with the Blood Clan.”
Xiadam stirred the wolf meat stew simmering in the stone pot, her expression slightly troubled as she cooked and pondered at the same time.
Sheffield stood atop a large rock, pretending to keep watch around them, but in reality, she was just waiting for the meal.
She had taken down a lone wild wolf, so today’s dinner was once again wolf meat stew.
The further west they traveled, the more barren the land became.
The grasslands and vast forests had vanished, replaced by endless stretches of desolate rocky terrain, jagged hills, and bizarrely shaped boulders.
Although this place wasn’t as dangerous as the South Forest, there were still plenty of wild beasts living here.
And because food was scarce, these beasts were mostly starving—far more ferocious than the ones in the forest.
But of course, all this was pointless talk.
With White Dragon King Sheffield present, she naturally carried the Dragon King aura; there was no need to fear any beast.
“Life in the west is a lot tougher than in the South Forest. But compared to the Extreme North Demon Domain, it’s practically paradise,” Xiadam said with a sigh.
Unlike the South Forest, where any spot near a water source was a blessing, the Western Desert offered no such convenience.
Survival was possible, but it required some professional outdoorsman knowledge.
That was no problem for me—Xiadam, the wilderness survival expert.
“When I was young, I could hide in the Blackrock Demon Domain for three days and nights without food or water.”
Xiadam spoke confidently as she added a pinch of pepper to the stew, taking a small sip to taste it before calling Sheffield and the Fat Little Dragon to eat.
“Whoo, whoo, whoo! Whoo, whoo, whoo!”
The next day, a sandstorm swept the area, the wind filled with dust and grit.
Xiadam was sick.
Fever, stomach upset, and dizziness made it almost impossible for her to move.
She could only wrap herself in the bearskin cloak and curl up beneath a large boulder to shield herself from the sand.
But the sandstorm blew relentlessly from every direction—no rock could fully block it.
So, in truth, it was Sheffield who conjured a magic barrier, using pure magical power to forcibly shield against the storm’s assault.
Sheffield sat beside Xiadam, her face full of worry and helplessness.
“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Xiadam weakly reassured her.
“There’s a little wolf meat left from yesterday. I’ll make you something to eat,” Sheffield offered.
“Cook? You?” Xiadam forced a smile.
“Just wait,” Sheffield said and immediately set to work.
She opened a Void Rift and pulled out the stone pot and firewood.
The White Dragon King’s [Storage Space] ability was truly an essential travel skill.
Stone pot, firewood, wolf meat—even the bearskin cloak—were all stored within White Dragon’s Storage Space.
Time stood still inside the Storage Space, so ingredients wouldn’t rot.
This made Xiadam recall the meat rack she had made at the beginning—what was the point?
But Sheffield liked to play the fool; Xiadam never really knew what cards she was hiding or what hidden strength she possessed.
The red-haired noble mage girl they had encountered earlier didn’t even realize Sheffield was a mage—no flaws whatsoever.
Sheffield was the type who could completely conceal magical aura leakage—the ultimate master of playing dumb.
“Why is it burning?”
Xiadam suddenly caught a whiff of burning meat.
Looking closely, the stone pot was billowing thick black smoke.
Despite her discomfort, she forced herself up and immediately scolded, “Are you stupid? Why didn’t you add water? Why use a pot if you’re just going to dry burn it?”
“Isn’t that how you’re supposed to do it?” Sheffield exclaimed in shock.
“Don’t burn my stone pot!” Xiadam snapped, taking over the cooking.
She put out the fire and stared silently at the now charcoal-black wolf meat.
“There’s no water outside with this wind. I don’t want it to come to this, but magic isn’t omnipotent!” Sheffield protested stubbornly.
I have my reasons! I have my difficulties!
“It’s okay. I’ll cook,” Xiadam sighed, not showing any blame.
But inwardly she was fuming: I’m sick, and I still have to cook for you! Useless dragon!
Wrapped in the bearskin cloak, Xiadam got up and told Sheffield to restart the fire.
She skewered the wolf meat and grilled it with some seasoning—it was ready to eat.
Still grumbling internally: This isn’t even cooking. Anyone with basic knowledge could do this. All it takes is hands.
“Crunch, crunch!” Sheffield devoured two skewers at once.
Xiadam, bothered by Sheffield’s antics, found it hard to sleep despite still feeling unwell; her mind felt clearer.
Sitting under the rock inside the protective magic barrier, she casually nibbled on a skewer.
Watching the howling sandstorm outside was, in a way, a strange kind of scenery.
After all, who in their right mind would stay at the center of a sandstorm just to watch the view?
The Fat Little Dragon only managed to snatch two skewers; Sheffield had eaten the rest.
But that wasn’t the real point.
Unlike Sheffield, the Fat Little Dragon wasn’t greedy, nor was it as sleepy as when it was just born.
“Whoo~ whoo~ whoo~ whoo~”
The Fat Little Dragon held a stick it had chewed clean, spinning it with its little paws and swinging it like a baton.
It was practicing the Instant Spin Slash it had seen Xiadam perform last time.
Like those village kids pretending a stick was a sword, dreaming of becoming knights when they grew up.
But the Fat Little Dragon’s build made it impossible to be as graceful as Xiadam.
No matter how you looked at it, spinning around and circling behind wasn’t necessary.
It could just become a spinning top and ram its enemies to death.
“Haha.” Xiadam found the Fat Little Dragon’s swordplay far more entertaining than the sandstorm outside—cute and ridiculous.
“Looks like it’s already awakened the instincts of the World-Ending Black Dragon. Practicing how to destroy the world from a young age, soon it will slaughter and turn rivers red with blood,” Sheffield said with disdain, annoyed that the Fat Little Dragon had eaten two of her skewers.
“Are you blind? It’s clearly copying my sword technique,” Xiadam retorted.
But before Sheffield could reply, Xiadam suddenly had a revelation and sank into deep thought.
Wasn’t the purpose of raising the Fat Little Dragon to temper its ferocity?
To prevent it from growing into the legendary mobile disaster—the World-Ending Black Dragon?
Although right now, she saw no sign of the Fat Little Dragon turning into the World-Ending Black Dragon.
It understood human nature, was timid, good-tempered, never caused trouble, and certainly never hurt others unprovoked.
If anything, Sheffield caused far more trouble than the Fat Little Dragon.
So…
Wouldn’t it be enough to teach the Fat Little Dragon the honest and kind spirit of a rural knight?
“[True Dragon Knight].”
Xiadam admired her own world-shaking wisdom.
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