I, a cultivator, have ended up in the wizarding world

Chapter 713 Tracking

Deep in the Iron Ridge Mountains, dense forests block out the sun.

The layers of tree canopy fragmented the already dim light, with only a few pale beams of light piercing through the gaps and falling obliquely to the ground.

The air was humid and stuffy, with a faint smell of sulfur.

The trees here also contain a certain amount of dragon blood, so their appearance is completely different from the forests in other planes.

The thick trunk is covered with fine, scaly bark, like the shed shell of some giant creature; the edges of the leaves have serrated, keratinous protrusions that make a slight rubbing sound when the wind blows, sounding like countless tiny scales scraping against each other.

Two tall figures were struggling through the dense forest.

They walked very slowly, each step taken with extreme caution.

The large dragon wings were pressed tightly against its back to avoid scratching the branches and making noise.

The dark red scales gleamed faintly in the dim light, occasionally flashing like red-hot iron when illuminated by daylight. Both men were over three meters tall, with broad shoulders and thick backs, their arms almost touching their knees when hanging down.

Each dragon has a pair of backward-curving horns on its forehead, with dense and clear patterns on the horns.

The patterns on the horns are a symbol of the purity of the dragon-human bloodline. The denser the patterns, the closer the bloodline is to that of a true dragon.

The dragon walking in front was taller, and its scales were a darker color, like solidified dark red magma.

As he pushed aside the scale-like branches blocking his way, he muttered in a low voice, "This godforsaken place makes me uncomfortable every time I come here."

He looked up and glanced at the dense forest above.

"Have you noticed? The roars of those dragon beasts are getting louder and louder. It's been like this for the past few days. Has something happened?" The dragonman behind him was half a head shorter than him, and his scales were a lighter color, closer to bronze rust.

He was clearly more nervous than his companions, and every time he broke a dead branch, he would subconsciously look around.

"Perhaps...they migrated?"

He himself didn't quite believe it when he said that.

After a few seconds of silence, he couldn't help but speak in a low voice:

"Halta, I think... maybe we should just let it go this time."

The dragon-man in front didn't turn around, but just smiled disdainfully: "What? You're planning to retreat again?"

The bronze-rusted dragon-man said with a serious expression:

"Those guys looked at us strangely during the last trade. And the potions they gave us... were way too cheap. A few low-quality crystals with mixed energy, and they traded them for a bottle of bloodline evolution potion? What kind of deal is that?"

"Of course there's no such thing as a free lunch."

Harta chuckled, seemingly mocking those who intended to trade with him, or perhaps his own companions.

"You think I don't know there's a problem here?"

He parted a thick, drooping vine, and his vertical pupils gleamed faintly in the shadows.

"Those guys hiding deep in the mountains don't even dare to show their faces; all their transactions rely on middlemen. They're either part of the resistance or supplying them with resources."

At this point, he suddenly turned his head, his lava-colored vertical pupils gleaming coldly in the dim forest:

"But what does that have to do with us?"

The bronze-rusted dragonman was taken aback upon hearing this.

Harta ignored him, turned around, and continued walking forward with a cold smile:

"We're just here to do some small business that's common between villages, and to exchange a few unwanted crystals for potions. We have no idea where the potions came from or what the crystals are used for. If anyone ever comes after us, we can just say that we traded those things with other villages." As he spoke, he snapped a dead branch in frustration.

Crack.

The crisp snapping sound was particularly jarring in the silent forest.

"Why do you think those smugglers selling counterfeit goods at the city gates have gotten away with it all these years?"

"It's not that we can't find the information. It's that even if we do find it, we can't convict them."

"We also have to thank those rigid forgeries; unless they can find concrete evidence, they won't convict us... That's much better than back then!"

The bronze-rusted dragon opened its mouth, but said nothing more.

But the emotions that Harta had been suppressing in his chest seemed to have finally found an outlet.

His steps quickened, and the sound of his footsteps snapping branches grew louder.

"Besides..."

His voice suddenly lowered, as if it were being squeezed out little by little from between his teeth.

"So what if there are risks?"

"We were once a high-ranking noble family! The name of the Hal family can be traced back sixteen generations in the history of the Dragonkin!"

As he spoke, a kind of fanaticism even appeared in his vertical pupils.

"Sixteen generations!"

"And now?"

"Power, glory, and wealth have all been plundered by those counterfeiters! Those inferior lizards... those hybrids with less than a tenth of their bloodline purity, actually sit on equal footing with us in the village!"

His voice grew colder: "On what grounds?"

The bronze-colored dragonman shrank back; he was clearly frightened.

But after a few seconds, he still spoke in a low voice:

"But... I don't think there's anything wrong with it as it is now."

The air suddenly became quiet for a moment.

Harta abruptly stopped, the muscles beneath his scales instantly tensing.

The bronze-rusted dragon also stopped.

He could clearly feel the anger emanating from his companion through the gaps in the scales, and the surrounding air even seemed to warm up slightly.

But he continued, "At least now, as long as you're willing to work in the mines or forges, you'll have a stable income every month." "You won't be forcibly conscripted into war by high-ranking nobles anymore, and you don't have to worry about losing your land and property for saying the wrong thing. And if you're willing to learn, they're willing to teach us..."

His voice grew softer and softer until it sounded like he was talking to himself.

"Children can go to school for free to learn all kinds of knowledge, and there are medical stations when they get sick. Some elderly people with mobility issues can even receive a monthly subsidy for free."

"In the past, although we were above those low-bloodline dragonmen, there were also nobles of higher bloodlines who trampled on us."

"Back then, every time you went to see the head of the household, you had to prepare a gift three days in advance, for fear of saying the wrong thing and causing trouble for the family."

He lowered his head slightly as he said this.

"Now at least... as long as we're willing to follow the rules, no one can bully us."

"You call this not being bullied?!"

Harta whirled around, his vertical pupils burning with an almost tangible rage.

"They turned you into an ordinary miner! A tool that can be replaced at any time! And you actually think it's great?!"

His breathing became noticeably heavier.

"The nobility of the surname Hal is not like that of those witches..."

The voice stopped abruptly because the words he spoke reminded Harta of a deep-seated fear, causing him to bite off the rest of his words.

The bronze-rusted dragonman shrugged, but finally raised his head to meet Harta's gaze.

The two stared at each other in silence, an eerie stillness.

In the end, it was the bronze-rusted dragonman who was the first to look away.

"Never mind," he sighed wearily.

"I heard that a new... wizard has recently arrived. The one who calls himself Broadleaf."

He reached out and patted Harta's arm.

"Several of those beings have arrived again. It seems that the Broadleaf Wizard is really preparing to get serious."

"After this job, don't get involved in these things again."

Harta remained silent for a long time, and the anger in his eyes finally subsided little by little under the weary gaze of his companions.

He turned his head away, took another step, and simply gave a vague "hmm".

The two continued forward into the dense forest, neither of them speaking again.

Not far behind them, Jemin was silently following in the ethereal state of the Tai Xu Step.

He followed the two dragonmen with an extremely relaxed demeanor, quietly listening to the entire conversation.

Based on what the two men said, a large amount of information began to be automatically organized in Jeming's mind.

He had already thoroughly reviewed the social structure of the Dragonman plane before setting off.

That was a very typical civilization based on bloodline hierarchy, where bloodline purity determined everything.

Those of higher bloodlines monopolize political power, military command, and high-quality resources; while those of lower bloodlines and mixed-blood dragons are forever stuck at the bottom, engaged in manual labor and basic production.

Because bloodlines themselves possess inherent power, coupled with differences in resources, social mobility becomes virtually impossible.

High-ranking dragonkin maintain their bloodline concentration through marriage, while low-ranking dragonkin don't even have the qualification to enter the city's core area.

Until the Broadleaf Wizard arrived.

What he brought was the most standard governance logic of wizarding civilization: the supremacy of ability.

Ignore bloodline, only value.

The capable rise, the weak fall; fair competition, survival of the fittest.

This system is perfectly normal in the wizarding world.

But for those high-ranking dragon people who were once high above others, this was almost equivalent to having their spines broken on the spot.

Although high-ranking bloodlines do bring some innate power, the sheer number of low-ranking dragonkin has allowed them to produce a vast number of powerful individuals who can overcome the limitations of their bloodlines through their own abilities.

Therefore, with selection based solely on ability, a large number of high-ranking dragon people lost their privileges.

Having lost their naturally noble status, they were forcibly dragged from the top of the pyramid to a position on par with "inferior lizards".

That's why Harta was angry.

He firmly believed that he was born noble because his bloodline came from the Hal family, and because the so-called sixteen generations of succession was a natural right to rule under the old system.

But now, all of those things are gone.

He could only resort to smuggling inferior crystals to exchange for bloodline potions of dubious origin, attempting to restore his bloodline purity in this way. As for the rebels…

Jemin could probably guess the composition and structure.

I'm afraid the vast majority of them are former high-ranking dragon people.

The reason they have never been able to develop is not because of strong external suppression, but because their demands are completely irrelevant to the vast majority of ordinary dragon people.

In some respects, it could even be said to be the complete opposite.

The larger number of ordinary dragonmen and mixed-race dragonmen were already at the bottom of the social hierarchy under the old system.

The new system was not oppression for them, but liberation.

Who would risk their life for a nobleman who once trampled on them?

"It seems that the reason these rebels have been able to hold out for so long is because of the Broadleaf Wizard's leniency."

Jemin narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, then silently swept past the two scale-leaf trees in his ethereal state.

"Their purpose should also be related to the technology of the reflection dimension, so... are we in the final stage now? Then why did they come to us?" The two dragonmen ahead continued to move forward in silence.

Deeper into the dense forest, a faint, low, and suppressed sound of flapping wings could be heard.

Jemin collected his thoughts and continued following.