159 "Pseudo" Dragon's Might!

In the inherited memories of almost all sentient life across the continent, dragons were synonymous with supreme power. From the very dawn of memory, countless legends instilled a profound sense of the might and invincibility of the "dragon." Yet, the term "Dragon Knight," so well-known in one of Theresa's past lives, was a completely meaningless and nonexistent concept in this plane of existence—for no one dared to contend against a true dragon!

Legend had it that dragons were colossal, naturally wielded elemental magic, and possessed a proud and arrogant disposition. Among them, some were benevolent toward humans while others were malevolent. As the apex predators of this worldly plane, dragons had no natural enemies whatsoever; they abided solely by their own laws!

No matter how many portrayals of dragons had been drilled into her mind, the moment Theresa laid eyes on a life-sized dragon, she was still crushed almost to the point of suffocation by its majestic and solemn aura—

Reason told her that it was merely a stone sculpture, not a real dragon; yet, try as she might, she could not move a muscle. She felt an invisible force pressing down on her tightly, squeezing the oxygen out of every cell in her body, driving it upward along her respiratory tract inch by inch. Her chest was constricted, her throat choked, and eventually, even the strength to breathe abandoned her. Her face flushed crimson from asphyxiation, starlight danced before her eyes, and her head spun with dizziness...

"Hah!" A furious roar instantly shattered the force that had been crushing Theresa. Powerless and limp, she collapsed to the ground, her hands instinctively clutching her chest as she gasped for breath. As her consciousness slowly returned, she realized that her whole body was trembling in fine shivers, and her back was already drenched in a cold sweat that had soaked entirely through two layers of clothing!

Amidst her heavy panting, she saw Lambert squatting down before her. He took her hand, and a warm current flowed through his grip into her body, gradually thawing Theresa's chilled frame—until that warm energy finally soothed her coldness, trembling, and terror. Only then did Lambert release her hand and turn toward the next person...

It was only at this moment that Theresa discovered there were quite a few others who had suffered the same fate as her. Flora, needless to say, was in no better shape, and quite a few of those thick-skinned, exceptionally sturdy orcs had also collapsed. Only a rare two or three could barely manage to stand—though even standing, their legs were shaking, and not a single one of them was able to remain as unfazed as Lambert, let alone assist others in recovery as he had done.

From this moment on, Theresa truly and directly glimpsed Lambert's formidable power—this was no longer a mere gap in quantity; it was a qualitative difference spanning entirely different dimensions and tiers!

However, what surprised Theresa the most at this moment was not the performance of the orcs or Lambert's might, but Habata's showing—he had actually not fallen!

Even though he stood with extreme difficulty, his facial features grotesquely distorted by pain, and even though anyone could see he was on the verge of toppling at the slightest gust of wind, he was nevertheless standing. So arduously yet tenaciously standing!

One had to bear in mind that Habata was merely a fourth-tier intermediate warrior. Among orcs and half-orcs, reaching such a level at his age was certainly commendable, but hardly a rare marvel. Yet, relying merely on his fourth-tier intermediate status, he had stubbornly withstood pressure that even those above the fifth tier could not endure!

Such a feat could truly be crowned with the word miraculous...

...

Lambert was not nearly as gentle with the other orcs as he had been with Theresa. He walked down the line, kicking each one he encountered, utilizing that physical contact to channel energy into their bodies and stimulate their self-healing capabilities before moving on. Thus, his sweep across the group was executed with utmost efficiency—he treated the orcs who were still standing with the exact same method of a kick each...

However, when he finally stood before Habata, he flashed a rare, brilliant smile, reached out to pat Habata on the shoulder, and praised, "Not bad at all, young man!"

Although Lambert was praising Habata, this gesture sent him tumbling straight to the ground with limbs splayed, sprawled out completely flat in total prostration...

Seeing this, Theresa's cheek twitched involuntarily...

"Is Habata alright?" Theresa asked.

"He's fine," Lambert squatted down, pressing one hand against the side of Habata's neck as if checking something, while responding to Theresa's question, "This kid has turned misfortune into a blessing. After heading back this time, he'll likely experience a major breakthrough. However, we can't move him right now—Theresa, come over here and set up a magic array with defensive and warning functions."

Hearing this, Theresa scrambled up eagerly and pro-actively followed Lambert's instructions, laying down layer after layer of magic arrays around Habata without sparing any materials or mental energy. She could tell from Lambert's tone that they probably wouldn't be able to take Habata with them, and she could never rest easy leaving such an undefended Habata behind all by herself, so she could only maximize his safety factor to the best of her ability.

The moment Lambert saw her go to work, he immediately smiled: "I'm leaving two or busts—two orcs behind to guard him; you don't need to pull out your absolute last trump card, do you?"

Theresa was concentrating wholeheartedly on setting up the magic array and had no energy to spare for Lambert. It wasn't until everything was completely handled that she wiped away a sweat, and with a delay of several beats, replied, "He came all the way to the highlands just to help me, so I naturally bear responsibility for his safety—by the way, what was that just now?"

"That was dragon awe," Lambert said, turning his head to gaze at the colossal dragon crouching in the center of the grand hall, its towering height nearly brushing the ceiling, his expression turning rare and solemn. "I never expected this ancient altar to possess a 'Pseudo-Dragon Guardian'."

"Pseudo-Dragon Guardian"? While Theresa was puzzled, the book spirit acting as her universal encyclopedia popped up instantly in her consciousness, chattering away to impart all knowledge related to this term—

The so-called "Pseudo-X Guardian" referred to a class of alchemy puppets known as "Guardian Puppets"—a category of ancient alchemy that had long since been lost.

A "Guardian Puppet" was a puppet beast restricted to movement within a specific, designated range. True to its name, it was a puppet created specifically to guard certain particular objects. The inner core of the puppet would be infused with the soul essence of a ferocious magical beast to invisibly intimidate intruders—as for the specific name of each "Guardian," it was dictated by the magical beast soul infused within it: infused with a wolf's soul, it was a "Pseudo-Wolf Guardian"; infused with a tiger's soul, it was a "Pseudo-Tiger Guardian," and so on...

Guardian puppets were originally not particularly high-difficulty or dangerous creations, generally relying on quantity rather than quality. But to forge a puppet using the soul essence of a terrifying dragon, as seen before them right now, was something utterly unheard of...

Dragon soul essence...
Dragon soul essence...
Dragon soul essence...

This name echoed and re-echoed within Theresa's mind... At the same time, an incredible, absurd feeling welled up in her heart—had the orc race once been so immensely powerful that they could actually utilize dragon soul essence? What kind of glorious, magnificent era had that been?!

Theresa's abnormal silence aroused Lambert's curiosity. He turned around to look, only to be instantly amused by the shocked and distorted expression on Theresa's face—

"What on earth are you daydreaming about?" Lambert tapped her lightly on the forehead and asked.

"Dragon soul essence!" Prompted by his tap, Theresa reflexively blurted out the term that kept echoing in her mind.

Hearing this, Lambert was even more amused. "Do you really think anyone would dare commit such a desecration against dragons? To do that, they'd need the courage and strength to contend against the entire dragon race—and I imagine such a person has never existed."

Hearing this, Theresa immediately felt a wave of relief wash over her whole body, while also remembering to keep questioning: "Then why did you call it a 'Pseudo-Dragon Puppet'—if there's no dragon soul essence, where did the dragon awe come from?"

"This puppet utilizes an orc secret technique," an explanatory voice suddenly sounded from behind Theresa, giving her a fright. She whirled around to find Li, the fox-kin, standing about three meters behind her, gazing up at the giant dragon sculpture with a gaze full of fanatical reverence—the fervor in those eyes burned like a blazing fire, so intense that Theresa genuinely feared that at any second, real flames might erupt from his eyes...

"During the Titan Era, the chieftain of the orc race was on friendly terms with the dragon race. The dragons gifted them five wisps of 'Dragon Will.' The orc race gathered elites from all clans, jointly constructing five altars using unimaginably precious materials to house the 'Dragon Will,' serving as a testament to the enduring friendship between the orc and dragon races!"

Hearing Li's explanation, Theresa's eyes widened in realization. She pointed toward her own feet and asked, "Could this be one of those altars?"

"No." Theresa's question caused Li to gradually regain his composure, his gaze shifting from pure reverence to a mixture of pain and sorrow. "During the Post-Titan Era, the entire continent plunged into a dark, chaotic age lasting hundreds of years. The five altars housing the 'Dragon Will' were lost in the wars, leaving behind only these 'Guardian Puppets' that once guarded the altars' perimeters and were nourished by their energy..."

For any clan of orcs, those days transitioning from the peak of glory down to the abyss of the valley were an unceasingly painful memory passed down through their bloodline. Therefore, as Li spoke these words, his face was contorted—and the orcs around him likewise wore expressions of agonizing distortion...

So painfully distorted that Theresa instinctively swallowed her next question back down into her stomach—altars lost... could it be that those altars had grown legs and run away by themselves? Had they turned into spirits or something...

Curling her lips slightly, Theresa looked left and right—she certainly didn't dare look at that "Pseudo-Dragon Puppet" anymore, fearing something else might go wrong if she accidentally glanced at it again—and asked, "Where are we heading next?"

"This way," Lambert pointed the way with a smile. With that, he turned back to instruct Li to leave two orcs behind to guard Habata.

Although Li wasn't particularly polite toward Theresa, he was exceptionally warm and generous toward Habata—after all, they belonged to the same orc race, and besides, Habata was an orc praised by Lambert, with a remarkably promising future ahead! (To be continued)