I'm not a goblin Frankenstein's monster.

Chapter 92 The Nightmare of the Undead Dragon

The heavy wooden door of the "Stonehammer and Spirits" tavern was suddenly kicked open.

Charlin, Targen, and Ezio rushed out after the dwarves who were helping the wounded. Woody, who was on their shoulder, also straightened up for once, his dark eyes fixed on the sky.

The sight that came into view made even those who were used to bloodshed and battles gasp involuntarily.

Above the town, a colossal creature spread its tattered bone wings and glided over the low rooftops.

It was not a living, magnificent dragon covered in scales and armor, but a gigantic skeleton that sent chills down one's spine.

Its dark, blackened bones form its general outline, and one can vaguely discern the dragon's head, winding spine, and sharp claws.

But at this moment, the skeleton was not empty; instead, a strange silver flame was burning fiercely. The flame quietly clung to each bone, flickering and dancing, but it did not ignite anything; it only emitted a destructive power that contrasted with its appearance.

Sometimes, even the seemingly quiet freckled girl hides her wild side, and the shrewish woman who curses all day long has rare moments of tenderness. And now, the silver flames clinging to "Mad Dragon" Stark are displaying a destructive power that belies his calm exterior!

"Mad Dragon" Stark's left wing was visibly damaged, with several main wing bones broken and charred. Silver flames flickered and danced around it. It was this injury that affected its flight, causing it to veer off course and wander over the town like a drunkard, venting its frustration.

"What the hell is that?!" Ezio exclaimed, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his waist, even though he knew it would probably be useless against the monster in the sky.

"Dragon—but believe me, this is definitely not the kind of normal dragon that bards talk about."

Tagen's expression was solemn, and the veins on the back of his hand gripping the warhammer bulged. His first impression of this "mad dragon" was not very friendly.

He felt a shiver, stemming from his very life force, creep up his spine; the "mad dragon" scorched by flames made him extremely uncomfortable.

While both involve fire, the roasted turkey at the Dwarf Tavern feels warm and comforting, and it tastes pretty good too.

If he really had to choose, he would rather face a hundred roasted turkeys from the dwarves than the roasted "mad dragons" currently ravaging the skies above the town.

Woody's voice, perched on Xia Lin's shoulder, rang rapidly in his mind, tinged with unusual gravity: "Undead Dragon! Damn it, how did something like that end up here?"

"A demigod dragon?" Xia Lin wondered to himself. Although he had learned about dragons through movies and novels in his previous life, dragons were dragons, after all. What man wouldn't like one? Right?

But as for the "Dead Bone Dragon" that Woody is talking about now, this is the first time he has heard its name. He was more familiar with the classic Lawful Evil and Chaotic Evil five-colored dragons, the Lawful Good Metal Dragon, and the neutral Gem Dragon. He had even dabbled in literary works related to the LostGreymon and the Dragon Rider with the surname Yin.

But "Dead Dragon," he tried to search through his memories, but no memory could resonate with the shadow of death hovering overhead.

"A monster born from the remains of a metal dragon or a chromatic dragon after its death, which were corrupted by extremely vile magic and infused with the undying embers of the so-called 'Great Cataclysm'!"

Woody quickly explained, "In very rare cases, the dragon soul dies in endless torment and is resurrected with boundless hatred."

Regardless of the type, they are all spirits of the dead, yet they retain the distorted shadows of their personalities from their previous lives.

The stronger the undead dragon, the more it is consumed by hatred, and the more obsessed it is with finding relics that can awaken its broken memories.

""

As if to confirm Woody's words, the burning undead behemoth in the sky—the mad dragon Stark—let out a roar filled with pain and rage. The sound was no longer the dragon's might that had just resounded throughout the heavens and earth; it was more like a mixture of grinding bones, howling flames, and shrieking souls, piercing and insane.

Its dark red soul fire leaped in its empty eye sockets, scanning the humans below who were scattering like a swarm of startled ants.

Run, little creature! Scream, bug!

Within Stark's fragmented consciousness, filled with hatred and pain, raging thoughts of violence surged. The chaotic scene below strangely stirred fragments of his recent memories, making his already confused thoughts even more violent.

It, Stark, had "escaped" from another plane that belonged to dragons.

In that world, it was nothing—merely the skeletal remains of a green dragon after its death, a lesser undead dragon that "luckily" emerged from the corruption of filthy magic.

Death itself is a disgrace, and this monstrous form, born from death, is even more despised by the most evil five-colored dragons, who refuse to acknowledge it as one of their own kind.

Most undead dragons are merely pale imitations and pathetic reflections of their former glory and power.

They only remember fragmented pieces and painful echoes.

Sometimes, certain things or creatures encountered can suddenly sting them, briefly "awakening" them and reminding them of what they once possessed—a powerful body, the freedom to soar through the skies, awe-inspiring strength—

Then, this brief lucidity is quickly consumed by even more intense rage and pain, driving them to destroy everything that might become a "souvenir," to destroy those things that remind them of what they have "lost."

Finally, during a rare dimensional rift fluctuation, it glimpsed this "barren" forest that seemed untouched by "dragons." It struggled with all its might to break free from its suffocating and despised homeland and successfully "escaped" here.

This area, known as the Loran Forest, became its new kingdom.

How wonderful this place is! There are no disdainful gazes from true dragons, no harsh dimensional laws. It used the corrosive aura emanating from its own undead dragon characteristics to quietly transform and mutate many monsters deep within the forest.

The twisted goblins, the raging beasts, and even some plants became its ignorant yet loyal "subjects." It enjoyed the feeling of reigning over them, dreaming of establishing a dragon kingdom entirely of its own, composed of the dead and corrupted creatures.

He will be the only king here, the only dragon!

The plan seemed to be going smoothly until a few days ago, when its nightmare began.

A well-equipped human squad, exuding a holy aura that it loathed, somehow found its hiding place. A fierce battle ensued.

It killed several of the insects, scorched their bodies with catastrophic fire, and was about to gloat over the despair of these ants—

The oldest and weakest-looking insect, dressed in a purple robe, suddenly released a silver flame!

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