Everyone present was stunned. Before the slack-jawed crowd could react, Lucky bared her teeth, took another running start, and slammed forward again. The poor white tiger had just been blindsided and was still dizzy on the ground when Lucky rammed it again with a hit strong enough to make it cough up blood. Strike first and you control the fight; strike second and you're controlled. As if she knew her bite force couldn't match the tiger's, Lucky stuck to a car-crash style of combat—no jaw-to-jaw, just pure mass. Her whole game was ramming. Using her own agility and weight, she sent the tiger tumbling head over tail. Only then did her human, Natalie, realize her own dog had bulked up this much? Side by side, a dog and a tiger—and somehow Lucky looked the stockier one. That white tiger might be a tiger, but its footing was wobbly and it was clearly malnourished; her pup was well-fed and thick with muscle, bones like iron. At a glance, she looked like a white tank. After three straight hits, Lucky drove her iron skull into the tiger's vulnerable neck and knocked the big cat clean out. Everyone there was dumbstruck. The two hulking Black enforcers in back, who'd been flexing like they could scare people by sheer muscle, deflated like punctured balls. The pockmarked man and the Genoshan man's legs went weak; they just crumpled to the ground. Suddenly, getting beaten senseless by that woman didn't seem so bad—after all, even Tigeria had just been flattened by her crew.Lucky eyed the unconscious white tiger, snorted, then sauntered over and ripped a thunderous fart in its face. Bare your fangs at my Natalie? Here's a fart for you. Watching this play out, the white leader clutched his chest in rage and panic, looking one breath away from passing out. Forget outsiders—Natalie herself twitched at the mouth and whispered, "Cassian, I'm not dreaming, am I?" The calmest man in the room, Cassian answered with a thread of pride, "Hey, if David could slay Goliath, why can't Lucky take down a tiger?" He had, after all, trained the dog himself; watching her take down a tiger, he felt downright honored Sure, it was a scrawny tiger—but a tiger's still a tiger. From now on, Lucky could brag a little louder. Hearing Cassian, Natalie snapped out of it, beaming as she pulled out her phone. She had to capture this moment. Click—one glorious shot of mighty Lucky and the KO'd white tiger, side by side. The five foreigners in the tent were shocked all over again. A phone?? Three years into the apocalypse, and she just whipped out a phone?! Seeing their faces, Natalie casually pointed the lens at them and took another picture. "Sorry—just documenting the good life." Then, she pocketed the phone. "Relax, I turned on beauty mode for you." The men across from her stared, speechless: was that the point?!Natalie ignored them, smiled at her pup, and crooked a finger. "Lucky, c'mere." She was feeling sentimental. Back then, the two of them had been chased all over a mountain by a wild boar; now that tiny puffball had grown into a beast that could head-butt a tiger out cold! At her human's call, Lucky shed the feral glare and trotted over like the world's sweetest girl. Natalie stroked the big white head and, all honeyed politeness to the tiger's owner, said, "Oops. My little dog got spooked by your big tiger's roar and overreacted." Little dog? The blond, blue-eyed white man gaped. She called this fat, broad-headed creature a dog—and even "little"?! He'd figured it was some lion-boar hybrid! They were foreigners making a living in Drakoria; most folks here spoke Drakoric, and sure enough, he understood Natalie's humblebrag. He forced a few deep breaths, made himself calm down, sat properly, shoulders squared—trying to salvage a shred of dignity. He cleared his throat and finally spoke for the first time—but in Broric. Natalie's Broric was solid, and with magic spring water in her system, she understood him just fine, yet she coolly said, "Don't understand. Speak Drakoric." Cassian glanced over, amused. You couldn't blame his wife for the attitude: if they hadn't come in with guns and a war dog, the two of them would've been toast. These out-of-towners had stormed down the mountain, swinging hammers and axes. The moment they entered the camp, everyone wore a hostile face, and they'd even planted two massive Black bruisers at the gate to intimidate. Inside the tent, they'd staged a white tiger, ready to roar and start the feast.Anyone else would've been dead already. But running into Natalie? Tough luck for them. Seeing Natalie stiff-necked and insisting she "couldn't understand," the man arched a brow like he wanted to laugh at her for being uneducated. Couldn't even grasp a simple greeting, huh? But after what that dog had just done, he didn't dare voice a single complaint.