The fairy's nest stank for miles!

The longer he observed it from above, hidden amidst the clouds and positioned against the wind, the angrier Vainqueur grew. This… this insult to the dragon way of life would not survive the day.

It had taken him hours to locate it, due to powerful illusions shrouding the area from sight; phantasms that his [Hunter’s Resolve] Perk and magical items had easily negated. And when they had finally found the farm in the midst of a forest, Vainqueur had to struggle not to attack it on sight.

For the fairies had copied his Dodocare design, to make a mockery of it!

Instead of breeding birds for their own protection, the fairies had captured large groups of malnourished manlings, beastkin, kobolds, and other intelligent species in large cages, with twenty of them sharing a six square meters space. The prisons were arranged in rows, overseen by a black wood fort and a pack of fairy hounds.

In short, this was a slave breeding ground.

Vainqueur would have been appalled at how the fairies treated their minions on principle, but something else infuriated him. The stench of dragon blood that pervaded this insult to dungeon breeding.

“Gorynych doesn’t like this place,” the zmey said, Knight Kia on his back. “Can Gorynych go back to master?”

“Not yet,” Kia said, glaring at the pens. “Not yet.”

“I want this place burnt to the ground,” Vainqueur said. “This insult to the dragon way of life shall not stand.”

“Your Majesty, we may prevail if we attack head on, but we also risk harming the prisoners,” Knight Kia said, speaking like Manling Victor. “They may have more in the fort. We need a plan. I suggest you distract them while I free the captives.”

As she spoke, three figures walked out of the wooden fort and moved towards the pens. The dragon and his substitute minion observed them more closely.

Vainqueur recognized one of them as Mell Lin the piper, Mag Mell’s cowardly spawn, who assisted nuisances like adventurers and Batling Lavere. This time though, he had abandoned his manling disguise to reveal his true shape, that of an emaciated, ghoulish figure with bark skin. Some kind of armored orc taller than average with that worm Sablar's symbol painted on his chest followed him, alongside a humanoid black tiger.

“Frank the Anark,” Knight Kia recognized the orc. “A Sablar follower that I ‘fought’ with Jolie. The other must be a rakshasa. They use illusions—”

“Quiet,” Vainqueur replied, as serious as he had ever been. “I am trying to listen.”

Focusing on his sharp dragon hearing, capable of distinguishing the M from the m, the wyrm attempted to hear their conversation even with the great distance separating them.

Skill check successful.