Chapter 512: Garos's Dragon Energy Bomb, Dragon Emperor's Other Dimension

“No wonder a kingdom that can endure for a thousand years, weathering countless storms without toppling, is so formidable.”

“Our warriors fight bravely and fear no death, yet even so, they still cannot fully withstand Lothrian. On the Rhen Plateau they keep retreating.”

“Just the presence of that Earth Manipulator alone makes their defensive advantages immovable.”

Sorog’s whisper echoed inside the Red Iron Dragon’s mind.

The Red Iron Dragon slowly shook his massive head and said, “Lothrian’s ability to rise again from decline itself proves how deep their foundation is.”

“Let alone their strategic-level weapons advantages.”

“How are our direct clashes with Lothrian at the legendary tier going?”

Through his followers’ sight, Garoth continued observing the war on the Rhen Plateau.

But the followers’ vision had limits and could not reveal the full picture. It would be best to get a more complete understanding from other angles, especially from Sorog, who had full command authority.

“Legendary-tier battles...”

Iron Dragon Sorog said gravely, “Our legendary participants are not weak, individually superior in single combat, but the problem is their numbers are still too few, and Lothrian’s legendary equipment is clearly superior to ours.”

He paused briefly, then continued.

“The legendaries we’ve officially committed so far are Karu, Elvy, Ennus the Dragon-Lion, the phoenix Ankhia, and two Heroic Spirits.”

“The human legendary and the sahuagin legendary are not on the Rhen Plateau.”

“One is garrisoned at Valdo Palace to maintain internal stability and guard against possible unrest; the other is stationed on the frozen coast, guarding against maritime threats.”

“Also... Samantha is getting impatient.”

“She longs to join the battle, to punish the enemy with flame, but I restrained her.”

“As legendary dragons, regardless of individual strength, in the Aola Kingdom we are symbols of spirit and power. To rank-and-file soldiers and civilians, our presence means more than other legendaries.”

“In this war with Lothrian, unless we are absolutely certain of gaining an advantage, or unless the battle reaches certain critical moments, we must not act rashly.”

“If we fail, the consequences will be far more severe than a human legendary’s defeat.”

Garoth inclined his head slightly, fully understanding the iron dragon’s concerns and deeper meaning.

In pure combat, a legendary dragon like Beskarl the White Dragon probably couldn’t match Aola’s Fang in many respects.

But as a dragon, Beskarl’s status and symbolic significance in the eyes of ordinary gnolls, lizardfolk, or even centaurs and ogre warriors, far surpassed Karu’s.

Dragons are the founders and protectors of the Aola Kingdom, extensions of the Red Emperor’s will, living totems.

Sorog and Samantha need no introduction.

Aside from the emperor, they are the most widely known dragon presences in Aola, their status second only to the Red Emperor.

Against relatively weak foes like the Theo Kingdom before, they could strike without hesitation, crushing the enemy to display the might of Aola’s dragons, boost morale, and frighten lesser powers.

But this time is completely different.

Lothrian is a powerful kingdom that must be taken seriously.

Even now, many legendaries recorded in intelligence reports have yet to appear on Lothrian’s side.

They are surely watching Aola’s few legendary dragons closely, because Lothrian’s commanders know dragons are Aola’s true rulers.

If a legendary dragon fights and wins, it could greatly boost morale and even reverse the tide.

But if it loses, or even becomes bogged down in a hard-fought struggle showing fatigue and weakness... for the Aola legions that fight on high morale and steadfast belief, that would be a crushing psychological blow.

For now, despite overall disadvantages, the Aola legions still stand toe-to-toe with Lothrian’s forces.

They retreat step by step, but their formations do not break; resistance is stubborn, and they have inflicted far more trouble and casualties on the advancing Lothrian armies than expected. The main reason is their astonishing morale.

The battle souls formed through the military formations that concentrate morale are currently matching the performance of Aola’s Fang.

As Sorog spoke of the military formations, his tone brightened somewhat.

“The battle-soul formation provided by Reebos pairs with our Aola warriors far better than I expected.”

“It centers on morale, but it does not rely solely on morale; it also ties into the warriors’ tenacity, bloodlust, and fighting will.”

“It was practically tailor-made for our soldiers.”

“And as the war continues, as the soldiers are tempered in iron and fire, the battle souls are becoming denser and more powerful.”

“I even have this feeling...”

“If the scale of the campaign is large enough, and the warriors’ beliefs are unified and fierce enough, the power the battle souls can unleash might reach the level of strategic heavy weaponry.”

“I had planned to develop a formation of our own for Aola, but now it seems unnecessary.”

“With Reebos’ formation as a base and some improvements, it will suffice.”

Garoth asked, “You mean it could one day rival Lothrian’s sanctified spirits?”

Sorog responded seriously, “There’s still a very long way to go.”

“But... as long as the Aola Kingdom stands and our soldiers maintain highly pure belief and bloodlust, the battle souls have infinite growth potential.”

“Perhaps someday, they could become, after the Sanctuary, another powerful foundation that supports the kingdom.”

The Red Iron Dragon nodded, then shifted his tone.

“Among the dragons under our kingdom, many have likely reached adulthood through systematic training and education, and even more are in their youth.”

“How are those young dragons performing on the battlefield?”

Regarding the younger dragons, Sorog said, “In this war, most of them serve as mid- to low-level commanders, warlords, or special assault captains, mainly transmitting our will, coordinating warriors of different races, and acting as assault or fire-brigade forces at critical moments.”

“With their current age and experience, it’s still too early for them to decisively influence the outcome of large-scale campaigns.”

“But in engagements below the legendary tier, their performance is noteworthy.”

“As I said, these youngsters are far more cautious than wild dragons. They know how to assess the situation, when to advance or withdraw; they do not blindly act tough. Especially in the frequent small-scale skirmishes, they have achieved outstanding results.”

As Sorog described, the fighting on the Rhen Plateau currently centers on large-scale offense and defense.

Additionally, when Lothrian advances positions, due to certain operational requirements of the Earth Manipulator, they often dispatch many scouts and sentries in small detachments to conduct long-distance reconnaissance and mapping under protection.

The Aola Kingdom naturally would not let Lothrian gain battlefield intelligence unchallenged.

Ambushes, interceptions, and counter-reconnaissance against these scouting units are constantly playing out along the front.

In these battles, Aola’s young dragons have shone exceptionally.

They possess powerful dragon bodies, high speed, endurance, keen senses, and each is cautious and steady, able to detect traps, immune to provocation, and equipped with refined Alchemical Tools that cause huge trouble for Lothrian’s reconnaissance corps.

“Aren’t you going to tell me specifically about your three offspring?”

Sorog suddenly asked, “And your adopted black dragon daughter, Salia — they’re all gifted with extraordinary potential, but they are still young dragons, and in this war that sweeps legendaries across the board, they aren’t absolutely safe.”

Aside from the Silver Dragon Isanora in the dragon domain, the Red Emperor’s other offspring all took part in the Rhen Plateau war.

Red Dragon Laria was among them. Once war news reached him, he immediately left his long-managed territory and rushed to the plateau.

He wants independence, but he knows who his strongest backing is.

Moreover, in developing his territory he has benefited from his elders and the kingdom.

The Red Iron Dragon’s tone remained calm, saying, “Only through real war’s tempering, circling in blood and fire, can they shed immaturity and grow into dragons capable of standing alone.”

“You can’t raise a storm-fighting eagle in a greenhouse, and besides...”

He added, “They carry many life-saving items, and you are watching the front lines. I am not overly worried.”

Hearing this, Sorog seemed to recall something.

“Besides Salia, a few promising youths have recently emerged among the young dragons.”

He said earnestly, “I think you could consider, based on these young dragons’ battlefield performance, selecting some to adopt as sons or daughters. This would stimulate other young dragons’ enthusiasm and help screen outstanding ones.”

“The emperor’s sons...”

Sorog’s voice trailed off, then he joked, “Given time, if their numbers are enough, they might become a powerful Aola corps.”

“Good.”

The Red Iron Dragon approved the suggestion.

He then shifted back to the main subject.

“Lothrian’s advance is plodding and steady, and their advantage is snowballing.”

The Red Iron Dragon’s voice deepened. “To stop this snowball from rolling down and crushing us, we must interrupt their rhythm and prevent them from continuing to advance in this methodical way.”

The majestic dragon slowly rose, stretching his wings and whipping up dust as he gazed toward the plateau.

“I will personally act to halt Lothrian’s advance.”

“As for you, Sorog, and Samantha, Beskarl... you need not hold back any longer. Take any chance to strike, applying enough pressure on Lothrian’s legendaries.”

The iron dragon warned, “Once you reveal yourself, Lothrian’s crown-level figures will likely appear.”

“They’ve been waiting for you.”

The Red Iron Dragon chuckled low, baring sharp teeth. “No matter. It’s a matter of time. I am curious whether anyone will try to stop me.”

Rhen Plateau, an unnamed valley, deep night.

Moonlight pierced the clouds, outlining jagged scaly rocks and twisted barren trees.

In the valley’s depths, a Lothrian detachment of roughly a hundred silently advanced.

They wore light camouflage and cast concealment magic, their formation dispersed and movements agile — clearly an elite reconnaissance and surveying unit. In the center of the group hovered several spider-like light golems, moving soundlessly and continuously scanning the surroundings, transmitting terrain data in real time.

“Captain, the terrain ahead in the valley grows complex, with piled rocks that could hide natural cover or magical traps. I need some time to prepare a wide-area perception spell to detect danger in advance.”

A mage lowered his voice.

The man called captain, a middle-aged figure with a cold face and an old scar on his cheek, immediately raised his fist and made a few concise gestures.

The entire unit halted and waited while the spellcaster constructed the spell.

Then, before the caster’s incantation had finished—

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

Three figures burst out of the shadowed, steep rock walls on both sides of the valley, charging from above directly at the temporarily stopped reconnaissance unit!

Two blue dragons and one black dragon.

The two blue dragons were robust, with thick necks and broad wings and heavy azure scales. They looked more like red dragons clad in blue scales, a typical trait of Aola’s dragons.

By comparison, the black dragon was not as bulky but was sleek and wiry, his scales black as ink, nearly blending into the night.

All three wore chest armor and equipment suitable for dragons.

A low roar ripped the silence of the night.

The two leading blue dragons inhaled sharply, their chests expanding, then opened their mouths. Brilliant blue-white lightning spewed from their throats, crossing and sweeping across the Lothrian unit. The air ionized and cracked along the paths, rocks shattered, and nearby trees instantly carbonized.

“Ambush! It’s adult—no, young dragons! Defend!”

The captain’s pupils constricted.

Lothrian soldiers reacted quickly; almost as the captain shouted, the troops had already moved.

Those closest to the dragon-breath path dove behind the nearest rock cover; those a bit farther triggered single-use protective magical trinkets; several heavy infantry with Tower Shields ran forward, planting their massive shields.

At the same time, the ground beside the unit erupted.

Two heavy combat golems, long in stealth mode, burst from the earth.

They rose shoulder-high to ten meters, bodies forged from dark alloy, heads like sharp drills, one hand holding a door-sized rectangular heavy shield, the other gripping a nearly eight-meter-long great slashing sword etched with magical runes.

Facing the blue dragons’ crossed lightning breath, the two combat golems raised their shields in unison.

Runes on the shield surfaces suddenly lit, forming an energy field layered over the physical shield.

The lightning struck the shield-field with a shriek and flash.

The golems rocked back, arcs of electricity dancing across their alloy shells, wisps of smoke rising, even sparks ejected from some joints, but they withstood the first wave of breath. Smaller residual shocks were held by human shield-bearers.

However, the dragon breath was only a diversion.

While attention was fixed on the frontal lightning, a crimson figure, screaming through the wind like a falling meteor, dropped vertically from the night sky above everyone.

Its descent was extremely fast and its target clear.

Not the relatively fragile soldiers, but the sturdy golems.

Boom!

A thunderous blast erupted in the valley.

The earth shook violently as if struck by a great hammer.

Shattered rock and clods sprayed outward in a radiant pattern, slamming against Lothrian soldiers’ shields and armor with metallic clangs.

The right-hand combat golem had no time to dodge or block and was stomped under by the descending crimson figure. Its alloy shell twisted and cracked, its engine overloaded and exploded into a blazing fireball that sent the other combat golem flying.

The caster’s spell was incomplete and was thrown off balance by the shockwave; some casters suffered backlash.

Lothrian’s formation was broken.

In the dust and lingering flames, the attackers’ true faces were revealed.

A crimson great dragon, huge even among adult dragons, his scales gleaming metallic in the moonlight, muscles rippling, wings folded behind him, flame escaping his nostrils and mouth with each breath, claws and teeth menacing.

The emperor’s son, Garcro Ignas.

His combat style bore his father’s influence: simple, direct, violent, seeking to crush obstacles with absolute force.

The golem’s sacrificial explosion and flames left only some scorched marks and a few superficial cracks on his thick chest and limbs.

“Focus fire! Attack that red dragon! Interrupt his follow-up actions!”

Surviving Lothrian soldiers launched furious attacks at the red dragon between them; several light golems’ single optics glowed as they fired lasers at the red dragon.

Arrows, spells, and energy beams rained down like hail.

Garcro did not dodge; he took the attacks head-on and let out a savage war-cry.

His thick tail swept suddenly.

Wham!

The combat golem charging Garcro was flung at high speed, slammed against the rock wall, and embedded deeply.

Before the golem could free itself, the crimson shadow flashed.

Garcro charged with heavy steps that belied his size.

Crash!

Another muffled boom reverberated; the cliff trembled, the dent deepened, and countless cracks spiderwebbed outward.

Garcro pressed the embedded golem down with his powerful forelimbs, lowered his head, opened his tooth-filled maw, and light glowed deep in his throat.

Roar!

A terrifying dragon breath erupted, melting most of the golem’s body at close range.

“Hah, fragile toys.”

The young red dragon laughed, withdrew his forelimbs, and turned his vast body.

Elsewhere, as a mage was about to complete a spell, a black shadow silently appeared behind him.

Rip!

The shadow flashed and the mage’s magic shield shattered, blood spattering, his chant cut off.

Salia struck, landing her blow without pause; she beat her wings and skimmed almost ground-level to strike another archer who was enchanting a bolt.

Her attacks were devoid of flourish.

Precise, efficient, lethal.

She specifically targeted those Lothrian members who were attempting to organize an effective counterattack or cast a crucial spell.

The two blue dragons circled overhead, diving to slash with claws and tail to disperse soldier squads attempting to gather, and occasionally added another lightning breath to cut off possible escape routes, while watching the darker distances for reinforcements.

Soon the battle drew to a close.

Without the support of their combat golems, the casters were killed and the formation scattered... the reconnaissance unit’s fate against several powerful young dragons was sealed.

The last soldier was bisected by Garcro’s tail, and the fight ended.

The young red dragon took a deep breath and exhaled a hot breath redolent with sparks.

“Steel, blood, death... and the taste of victory—intoxicating.”

He flicked his tail, brushing aside a charred golem carcass, swelling with pride.

He reared his head and bellowed to the night sky, “Ha! Great Garcro, the Red Emperor’s fiercest son! One day I will surpass my father and inherit his Aola Kingdom! I will make him proud!”

Salia the black dragon paced around, ensuring no one feigned death or had slipped away.

She was used to Garcro’s boasting and showed no reaction.

The two blue dragons landed and let out contented throaty sounds, pawing through the spoils.

At that moment, as if sensing something, the young dragons in the valley all suddenly halted and simultaneously raised their heads, staring toward the northern depths of the night sky.

Not just there.

On another part of the plateau, the iron dragon Ophelia, patrolling low, abruptly stopped and craned her neck; the red dragon Laria, resting at a temporary camp and sharpening his claws, also rose and looked to the horizon.

Because the sky... changed.

Not actual dawn.

Two brilliant meteors, one large and one small, nearly overlapping, suddenly appeared from the northern edge of the heavens!

They dragged blazing tails that lit the night and, at a speed beyond mortal sight, streaked across the heavy darkness, plummeting toward the Twilight Plains in the southwest—where the fiercest fighting on the Rhen Plateau raged!

The light was so dazzling, so magnificent, that even at a distance one could feel it.

At the Twilight Plains main frontline, where a mid-sized engagement had just occurred, the Aola legions’ counterattack had been repelled. Under Lothrian’s reinforced defenses and heavy artillery, many warriors lay dead and weapons were wrecked.

Lothrian worked through the night to fortify positions, pushing their line forward hundreds of meters; morale remained steady.

On the Aola side, the forcedly abandoned positions carried a heavier atmosphere.

After continuous fighting and retreat, even with the Sanctuary’s glory and the emperor’s name supporting them, fatigue and frustration crept quietly into the lower ranks.

By the campfire, injured gnolls silently licked wounds, centaurs wiped blood from armor.

Yet when the meteors tore the night, every exhausted, wounded, and silent soldier across the Aola line snapped their heads up!

All listlessness, all frustration, all repression were swept away in that instant!

In their place surged a fevered zeal to the peak.

“Look! The north!”

“That light... it’s descending! The Red Emperor is here!”

“Aola! Aola! Aola!”

The suppressed line erupted!

Every Aola soldier’s eyes tracked the meteor’s arc, showing pure fanatic worship and adoration.

Their lord, their god, had descended to the battlefield!

Across at Lothrian’s lines, the soldiers’ hearts dropped as if gripped by an invisible hand, breath stalling.

They too saw the two meteors ripping the sky, but why two?

Intelligence about the Red Emperor’s battlefield arrival usually described him breaking through to the enemy as a corporeal meteor, crashing down for a devastating strike.

How could there be two?

The answer soon presented itself.

When the meteors neared, those with sharp sight realized they were not natural meteors, but—

A black-red great dragon dived at terrifying speed, and cradled in his foreclaws like a miniature sun, a gigantic fireball!

The Red Emperor, Garoth Ignas!

He descended dragging a sun.

On Lothrian’s defensive line, hearts rose to throats. Defensive spells and barriers activated, anti-air weapons opened fire, and countless light spots chased the figure in the sky.

Yet the Red Emperor did not plummet to the ground as before.

He slowed abruptly a few thousand meters up, fully spreading his wings like two dusk clouds that obscured the heavens, easing his dive.

But he did not stop all action.

He hovered in the sky, raising both thick forelimbs high above his head.

Between his dragon-arms, the fireball swelled rapidly until its volume exceeded Garoth’s own.

All beings—Lothrian or Aola—looked up and trembled, though for different reasons: Lothrian’s fear, Aola’s worship.

“Do not revere the sun.”

The Red Emperor’s deep, authoritative proclamation rolled like thunder across the Twilight Plains, drowning out cannon and alarm and battle cries.

“For you will revere me. You will fear me.”

When he finished, without ceremony, he pressed his claws down.

The ‘sun’, an orb condensed with unimaginable energy, slipped from his grasp and began to fall.

Compared to Garoth himself, the orb’s descent was not fast; it was even slow.

And precisely because it fell so slowly, it inflicted deeper spiritual torment on Lothrian’s defenders.

They watched the symbol of annihilation inch closer, feeling the air’s climbing heat, yet even moving seemed agonizing.

Lothrian’s young crown-levels and several senior legendaries lay in ambush behind the line.

They fixed on the aerial figure, planning to launch a long-prepared pincer strike the moment the Red Emperor struck the ground to land a crushing blow.

Yet now, facing that slowly descending sun, none dared to step forward.

Time felt viscous and endless.

The Earth Manipulator’s detectors exploded with piercing crimson signals; the whole device dove into the ground. Frontline commanders roared retreat orders hoarsely while soldiers dropped arms and scattered.

Then all sound was stripped away.

Hum! Boom!

The dark-red fireball swelled on the earth and shot skyward, blooming like a radiant flower of death across the dusk.

A blazing shockwave radiated outward, and everything in its path—newly constructed ironworks, war golems standing ready, artillery positions, and rune-inscribed mage towers—along with those Lothrian soldiers who could not escape, were flattened and vaporized as if they had never existed.

The entire frontline was devoured.

What followed was an overwhelming tidal shockwave that seemed poised to peel back the plain’s crust; deafening thunder blended with the symphony of materials shattering, melting, and collapsing.

The earth groaned; fissures webbed outward at frightening speed.

The sky burned; rising heat waves warped sight and stained the clouds dark red.

When the blinding light and rolling smoke finally subsided, only a giant charred crater remained, its bottom flowing with molten metal and glassy crystalline residue.

Silence.

A deathlike silence blanketed the battlefield; the air seemed frozen.

The next second, from Aola’s positions came a roar like an avalanche.

“Red Emperor! Red Emperor! Red Emperor!!!”

Every exhaustion, every setback, every doubt was cleansed in that moment by godlike celestial might!

Each Aola soldier’s eyes blazed like infernos.

At Lothrian’s rear command, officers looked at the death pit that had swallowed countless comrades, then to the dark-red dragon slowly spreading his wings above like a moving catastrophe, faces pale.

Some involuntarily took half a step back; others trembled.

The confidence built through repeated advances crumbled under this strike.

“Red Emperor...”

A stern general stared at the sand table, where markers representing the frontlines had all vanished and terrain models were warped and blurred.

He gripped his fists hard until knuckles whitened.

“This is Aola’s lord... This is the calamity we must face.”

He had given Aola ample attention and had foreseen the Red Emperor’s strength, but tonight’s display far exceeded expectation.

An attack that makes the sun fall...

A crown-level? This is the might of the Mandate of Heaven!

At the same time, in an unnamed mountain on the battlefield flank, the hot storm’s afterburn licked the young red dragon’s scales, bringing the scent of scorched air.

Garcro stared at the death-flower rising on the earth, stunned.

His jaws were stretched so wide they almost showed white.

If he had been any closer, he would have been turned to ash despite his resistance—young Garcro had no doubt about that.

Beside him Salia said nothing.

After regaining composure, she quietly extended a claw to cradle Garcro’s lower jaw and gently closed his gaping mouth.

New Calendar 417, October.

Lothrian’s front moved forward step by step, steadily building advantage, then the Red Emperor on the Twilight Plains raised a burning sun to descend. None dared stop him; with one strike the Lothrian frontline was consumed.