Chapter 470

Roar!

The dragon's thunderous roar echoed through the cavern, its pale wings trembling as though sensing the arrival of intruders. The leathery appendages scraped against the rough stone floor, producing a grating, unsettling sound. Slowly, the creature began to rise, its massive limbs stretching as it revealed a colossal frame marred by numerous wounds.

All eyes turned to the fearsome head of the dragon as it lifted, its jagged scales glinting faintly in the dim light. A closer look revealed a deep, festering scar cutting across the socket of its left eye. The once-proud orb had been replaced by an inflamed mass, oozing a sickly mixture of pink and yellow pus. Despite its injury, the dragon's remaining eye burned with a savage ferocity—a mixture of hatred, pain, and an insatiable thirst for blood.

Yet its baleful gaze wasn't fixed on Ian or his companions but rather on the goblins standing behind them, particularly the figure of Harmon, who led the group.

Suddenly, the sharp clang of a bronze bell shattered the tense silence. A goblin emerged from the shadows, ringing the bell with rapid, deliberate movements. The moment the dragon heard the sound, its predatory glare wavered, replaced by a flicker of terror.

Roar! Roar!

The dragon's anguished cries filled the air as it thrashed wildly, its enormous wings flapping uncontrollably. The beast's head jerked erratically as if trying to dislodge an unbearable pain stabbing through its skull. It twisted and pulled, its body writhing with desperation, but the bronze chains coiled around it held firm.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The beast's struggles caused the chains to groan and rattle, their metallic clamor reverberating through the chamber. Glowing red runes etched along the chain's length flared to life, emitting a magical aura that pressed down on the dragon with oppressive force. Its mighty legs buckled, and it collapsed, its enormous belly pressed against the floor. The once-pristine pale scales of its underbelly became tarnished, smeared with grime and streaks of blood.

A pitiful whimper escaped the dragon's throat—low and mournful, a sound that carried both agony and a plea for mercy. It was a pitiful sight, the once-mighty creature reduced to this state. But beneath the surface of its despair, there was something more—a prayer, perhaps, to a distant, unknowable deity.

"Brother, I can feel its despair," Wanda whispered, tugging at Ian's sleeve. Her voice trembled with emotion. "It's praying to the gods. It just wants to go home."

Ian glanced at her but said nothing immediately. Wanda's words hung in the air, unfinished, as if she wanted to say more but hesitated. Her gaze betrayed a complex mix of pity and determination.

Ian knew what she wanted. Wanda's tender heart would never allow her to leave the dragon to its suffering. But letting it go wasn't in her nature either. No, Wanda was the type who'd want to take the dragon under her wing, taming it and forging a bond of loyalty. Perhaps even making it her battle companion—or worse, Ian thought wryly, her brother's.

The thought of becoming a Dragon Knight stirred something primal within Ian—a mix of fear and excitement. Suppressing his impulsive musings, he sighed and patted Wanda's shoulder. "Don't worry. If you really want it, I'll back you up. The instructor won't refuse such a small request."

Wanda's face lit up with gratitude, but Ian wasn't done. "For now, focus on the task at hand. The instructor has put a lot into this mission, and we can't afford any distractions. Finish the job first, and then we'll talk about the dragon."

Understanding his meaning, Wanda nodded firmly. The lessons drilled into her by Teacher Carter left no room for error—personal desires could never interfere with the mission. Failure in this regard would not only invite Carter's wrath but also the ignominy of becoming an example in future training sessions. The very thought sent a shiver down her spine.

Even so, as she glanced back at the subdued dragon, her heart raced. There was something about the creature—something that promised untapped potential. Fate, it seemed, had plans for this beast.

"This Ukrainian Ironbelly was carefully chosen," Harmon announced, his voice breaking through Wanda's thoughts. "It's ferocious enough to rank among the top-tier Level 5X magical creatures."

His words drew the group's attention back to him. Harmon's sharp eyes gleamed as he continued, "Even the most skilled dark wizards would find their magic useless against its scales. And one bite from this beast—just one—and they'd be swallowed whole."

Pride radiated from the goblin as he spoke, his confidence restoring some of the morale among his comrades. The goblins, who had initially cowered under Wanda's imposing presence, now straightened their backs, reassured by Harmon's bold claims.

"Of course, it's entirely under our control," Harmon added. "As long as it's domesticated, there's no danger to anyone here."

The implication was clear—without their control, the dragon would be a catastrophe waiting to happen.

"Haha, Gringotts truly lives up to its reputation as the safest place in the wizarding world," Umbridge interjected with a laugh, hoping to ease the tension. "No dark wizard would dare set foot here with such measures in place."

With the mood beginning to lighten, Umbridge pressed on. "Now, let us proceed to the treasury. Once we examine the Kamar Taj vault, the truth will become clear."

She gestured toward a vault with a torn brass door. Harmon, catching her intent, nodded and gestured for his subordinates to proceed. The goblins hurriedly moved ahead, their expressions grim.

Behind them, the subdued dragon remained motionless, emitting a low, sorrowful moan as the group passed.

Darkness enveloped them as they entered the vault. Time seemed to blur, each moment stretching endlessly before abruptly snapping back into focus.

Goblin Warren stirred from unconsciousness, disoriented. A strange warmth enveloped him, lulling him into a false sense of comfort. But a sharp voice shattered the haze clouding his mind.

"Warren. Wake up!"

The words clawed at his consciousness, dragging him back to the present. Memories flooded his mind—a rush of images and sensations. He remembered the mission, the betrayal, and his failure.

Before him, the scene unfolded like a nightmare. The vault lay in disarray, counterfeit gold galleons scattered across the floor. Nearby, several goblins in blue and one in green were sprawled motionless.

"Warren, you traitor!" a voice thundered, shaking him to his core. Elder Harmon's enraged face loomed over him, and Warren's heart sank.

Memories crystallized. He had been tasked with sabotaging Kamar Taj's vault, replacing their gold with fakes to undermine their reputation. But he'd been discovered, his efforts thwarted. Now, there was no escaping the consequences.

"Mr. Ian," Harmon spoke, his tone composed but icy, "the situation is clear. This is an internal matter—a traitor within Gringotts attempted to compromise our client's vault."

He bowed deeply, his face a mask of regret. "Kamar Taj has our sincerest apologies. Gringotts will take full responsibility for the losses incurred and ensure those responsible face justice."

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