Chapter 41: The Dragon Clan

Xuanxi continues deeper into the forest. She can sense that there is indeed something of an unknown race in the cave ahead.

Her steps gradually slow down. About ten minutes later, a cave appears ahead.

The cave entrance is tightly covered by vines. If that person hadn’t told Xuanxi, she wouldn’t have noticed it.

Pushing aside the vines reveals a low opening, from which a faint draft blows out, carrying the smell of damp earth and a slight… fishy smell?

She bends down and crawls inside. The entrance is very narrow, only wide enough for one person to pass.

At the end of the cave is a spacious stone room. In the center lies a beast tribe member who has already taken human form. Xuanxi can’t name the race, but she feels that the other’s aura is very similar to her own, with a hint of dragon Qi.

There is a deep wound on her right arm, with blood still seeping from the edge. Dark red blood drips down her forearm onto the rock, pooling into a small “blood puddle.”

That is also the source of the fishy smell in the cave. Her right leg is also injured; the scales on her calf have been torn open, and blood flows freely, a gruesome sight.

She leans weakly against the stone wall, eyes closed, breathing shallowly, her chest barely rising and falling.

Xuanxi’s footsteps alert her. Her eyes snap open, and her body tenses in an instant. Her left arm rises, and a deep blue light condenses at her fingertips, a defensive measure ready.

“Who are you?” Her voice is hoarse, very weak.

Xuanxi doesn’t approach. Instead, she stands still and raises both hands, palms facing the woman, showing a non-threatening posture. “Don’t worry, I mean no harm. Besides, you’re injured. You need treatment, don’t you?”

The woman stares hard at Xuanxi, her left arm still raised in a defensive stance. Her hand is trembling slightly—a symptom of excessive blood loss.

Xuanxi can see that her face is even paler than when she first entered, her lips cracked and peeling, her skin an unhealthy grayish-green hue, the color that only appears after massive blood loss.

“Are you a local? A dragon living here?” Her voice is still low, a tone of testing.

“Yes,” Xuanxi says. She doesn’t correct her. She is indeed a western dragon, even if not by bloodline. She grew up on this land, lived here, studied here, and even found the one she loves here. “If your wound isn’t treated soon, your right arm will be crippled.”

The woman just keeps looking at Xuanxi. Xuanxi doesn’t move either. She knows that anyone who is severely injured in an unfamiliar place and suddenly meets a stranger would instinctively be on guard. It isn’t personal; it’s a normal subconscious reaction.

“Are you from the Flood Dragon Clan?” Xuanxi asks.

The woman flinches, as if her secret has been discovered. Her pupils grow narrower and sharper. “You know of the Flood Dragon Clan?”

“I’ve read about them in books. They’re said to be one of the major beast tribes of the Wasteland.”

Her left arm drops back to the stone wall, and her shoulders relax. She slumps against the rock as if all the air has been let out of her.

“You’re a dragon. I’m a beast. Although the two races are outwardly at peace, there are constant border skirmishes. Aren’t you afraid?” There is a strange tone in her voice, as if she is confirming whether Xuanxi is afraid of her.

“Afraid of what?” Xuanxi crouches down and pulls out a half-full healing potion from her pocket. “Afraid you’ll eat me? Do you think you can beat me in your current state?”

The Flood Dragon is silent. Xuanxi is right. She is seriously injured, with less than a tenth of her strength remaining. She can’t even stand, let alone fight a young dragon.

Xuanxi places the potion bottle on the ground and pushes it toward her. “Here, this is a healing potion. Apply it to your wounds. I don’t know if it works for your kind.”

She doesn’t take the bottle. Her gaze stays on Xuanxi. “You’re also water attribute? I can feel the water flowing in your aura—it’s very similar to mine.”

Xuanxi doesn’t answer. She pushes the bottle a little closer. “Apply the medicine first, then talk.”

Finally, she picks up the bottle. Pulling out the stopper, she pours the liquid onto the wound on her right arm. A faint sizzling sound escapes as the potion contacts her skin.

Her fingers clench tightly, her whole body trembles, and she bites hard on her lower lip. The skin around the wound begins to contract, and the bleeding stops, but the curled flesh hasn’t healed yet.

This kind of injury can’t be fixed by potion alone—it needs spiritual energy to assist regeneration.

Xuanxi reaches out, her palm hovering above the wound on the Flood Dragon’s right arm. Water surges from her palm, turning into extremely fine mist that envelops the entire wound.

The mist moves as if alive, seeping into the crevices of the wound and adhering to the exposed flesh. The spiritual energy contained in the mist penetrates the injury, causing the wound to close up from both sides like a newly sprouting leaf.

The Flood Dragon doesn’t move, letting the water mist wrap around her wound. She is slightly shocked, her eyelashes fluttering.

“You are not a western dragon!” Her voice is full of shock, but her tone is no longer as cold. “The water element of western dragons doesn’t have this ability. Their water attribute can only be used for support and defense. It can’t achieve this level of healing.”

The mist slowly dissipates. Xuanxi withdraws her hand. The wound on the Flood Dragon’s right arm has mostly healed. New scales cover the surface of the wound, thin but protective enough.

“Give me your right leg,” Xuanxi says.

She doesn’t extend her leg. Instead, she stares straight at Xuanxi. “You still haven’t answered my question, little dragon sister.”

Xuanxi looks into those deep blue eyes. She doesn’t know how to answer. Say she’s an eastern dragon? Say she grew up in the West?

Telling a complete stranger she’s known for less than fifteen minutes is too ridiculous. Besides, she’s the one who saved her life, yet this woman is now investigating her.

“That’s a secret. You don’t need to know,” she says. Her voice isn’t loud, but her tone is firmer than before.

The Flood Dragon catches the implication and stops asking. Obediently, she extends her right leg. The wound on her calf is much worse than the arm, revealing a deep gash with the muscles at the edges still twitching slightly.

The water mist re-forms and wraps around the calf wound. During the treatment, Xuanxi’s perception extends outward, capturing the Flood Dragon’s spiritual energy fluctuations.

It is indeed similar to hers, but not exactly the same. The Flood Dragon’s spiritual energy is wilder and fiercer, like a flash flood bursting forth, carrying mud and gravel as it rushes down.

Xuanxi’s own energy is softer and gentler, like a river in late autumn—calm on the surface, but with unfathomable power hidden beneath.

Perhaps this is the difference between the Flood Dragon Clan and the Azure Dragon Clan. Perhaps there is some secret hidden here that Xuanxi doesn’t know about.