Chapter 110: War (Part Five)
"Help! Please, help me!"
"Don't eat me!"
The fleeing remnants of the Honor Legion had reached Central Command, pursued by a relentless tide of Goblins and Goblinoids. Panic-stricken and disoriented, they stumbled into the heart of the battlefield, only to be swallowed by the advancing horde.
"Please... save me!"
The elite soldiers of Eagle's Claw stood motionless, their faces expressionless as they watched the chaos unfold behind them. With long spears in hand and shields locked in a tight, unyielding formation, they remained utterly still—like a living wall of steel and resolve.
"Attack!" Robert bellowed.
The trumpet sounded.
Pike and Shield Infantry advanced in perfect unison—each step precise, each movement synchronized, as if the entire line were a single, breathing entity. They marched forward like a moving city wall, relentless and inevitable.
The flood of Goblins and Goblinoids crashed into the wall—only to be shattered.
Shields held firm. Long spears thrust through gaps in the formation, spearing multiple enemies at once. From behind the phalanx, archers loosed volleys into the air. Arrows arced gracefully, descending like rain, piercing through flesh and bone. Dozens of monsters fell, pinned to the earth like trophies.
Elite forces, indeed.
In just minutes, the endless wave of creatures was decimated. The ground was littered with corpses—Goblins and Goblinoids piled high, their bodies broken and scattered.
The Pike and Shield Infantry continued forward, stepping over the dead with crisp, unwavering precision.
Even the most fearless of dragon-vein gnomes and hardened Goblinoids faltered. The one-sided slaughter broke their spirit. They turned and fled, scattering in all directions.
"Excellent! That's it—crush them!"
"Advance!"
Robert watched from a distance, the corners of his mouth finally lifting into a rare smile. The evidence was clear: Ashen Hollow’s followers were no match for disciplined military might. The only real threat now was the brutal, cunning Red Dragon.
"Forward! Bring the Dragon-Slaying Trebuchet!"
A dozen powerful soldiers heaved the massive Ballista Cart forward, its iron wheels groaning under the strain. The machine lumbered forward, a monstrous engine of war.
With Eagle's Claw leading the charge, over twenty thousand allied troops advanced unimpeded through the day, sweeping through Tiriel Valley with astonishing speed. Aside from a few scattered Goblinoid patrols, there had been no serious resistance.
But then—reality struck.
They had been wrong.
The weak, scattered Goblins and Goblinoids had been nothing but cannon fodder—mere distractions. The true might of Ashen Hollow was already waiting, poised and ready, deep within the valley.
"Ah…" Robert murmured, staring into the distance. "So this is their real army."
The entire horizon was swallowed by an army of monstrous proportions.
"Roar—!"
A dozen Earth-Crawling Dragonbeasts—each the size of a small hill—marched forward, their massive limbs shaking the earth with every step. Iron plates armored their backs like a fortress on legs, their bodies bristling with jagged spikes and spiked chains.
Hundreds of Wyverns hovered in the sky, gliding through the air with predatory grace, their wings casting shifting, chaotic shadows over the battlefield. Their screeches echoed like thunder.
Ogre tribesmen roared in ecstasy, their massive bodies trembling with raw power. Fat jiggled with every movement as they bellowed, "Enemies! Food!"
Among them stood a towering figure—over six meters tall—its body covered in crimson scales, draped in a patchwork robe stitched together from scraps of cloth and armor. It looked grotesque, yet undeniably imposing.
Dragonblood Goblins formed tight ranks. Front-line warriors gripped metal rods—standard-issue weapons—emanating a faint, acrid scent of gunpowder.
Lizardfolk stood ready, wielding bone spears and shields made of hardened animal hide. Their vertical pupils glowed with an unnatural, icy light—cold, calculating, utterly devoid of mercy.
And there, at the forefront, stood the Tieflings—descendants of the Devil’s blood—under the command of the oathbreaker. Many of them glared with hatred toward the Eagle's Claw soldiers, their eyes burning with bitter resentment.
Before them, the sea of Goblins and Goblinoids stretched endlessly. But this was no ordinary force. Nearly every soldier bore Dragon blood—its power rivaling that of any human warrior. And among them, sorcerers of Goblinoid blood roamed, their eyes flickering with arcane energy.
One thousand Players mingled within the monstrous ranks—normally indistinguishable, yet here, they stood out. Too human. Too unthreatening. Their faces were still too soft, too pale.
Then, from nowhere, the air filled with music—booming, wild, and stirring. The Satyr Military Band played flutes, their melodies sharp and haunting, like the sound of war itself.
"Roar—!"
A distant, soul-chilling Dragon’s cry echoed across the valley.
A monstrous head emerged over the horizon—huge, jagged, and terrifying. Then came vast, shadowing wings, blotting out the sun. A body as wide as a fortress stretched across the sky.
Compared to this beast, even the Earth-Crawling Dragonbeasts looked like mice beneath its feet.
Robert stared upward, stunned, his breath caught in his throat. He whispered, barely audible:
"By the gods…"
"How… could this be?"
He forgot to order the Dragon-Slaying Trebuchet to fire.
The entire allied army fell into disarray—panic spread like wildfire. How could mere humans hope to stand against such a creature?
The Red Dragon loomed above, its golden vertical pupils fixed upon them—filled with cold, unmasked disdain.
"Human," it spoke, its voice like grinding stone. "I admire your courage."
"But you've wasted it. You believe yourselves heroes, saviors of the people. Yet you are nothing more than tools—used by the vampire Duke, manipulated like puppets."
"Enough."
"Since you have sought war, I shall grant it. With fire. And I shall grant you… complete annihilation."
Robert snapped back to reality, his voice cracking with urgency.
"Dragon-Slaying Trebuchet! Dragon-Slaying Trebuchet! Kill it!"
The soldiers, trembling with fear, still obeyed. They scrambled to the rear, loading the massive ballista with trembling hands.
"Wait!" Slaud called out, stepping forward. "Lord Baron, this Dragon is impossible. No such creature could exist in the Prime Material Plane. It’s an illusion—a pre-recorded projection, cast into the air with masterful magic."
"But that only proves one thing," Slaud added. "Ashen Hollow harbors a master spellcaster. And this Dragon dares not face us head-on. It knows we have weapons capable of killing it."
Robert exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. "So that’s it…"
He narrowed his eyes, studying the beast. At its edges, the image shimmered—faint, translucent. And beneath the form, the air rippled with heat, like fire dancing in the distance.
"Damn it…" Robert muttered. "Cunning, evil bastard."
He felt shame burn in his chest—shame for his moment of weakness, for letting fear cloud his judgment. His hatred for the Dragon surged even higher.
Then, with a final, echoing roar, the Dragon dissolved—vanishing into a swirl of flame.
Only its last words remained, echoing in the minds of every soldier:
"I shall burn everything."
The news spread quickly through the ranks—the Dragon was an illusion. The fear began to subside.
They were still facing an unknown enemy, yes. But a phantom was less terrifying than a living nightmare.
The Northern Regions hadn’t seen a dragon incursion in over a century. The last was Icewing—a legend now.
Yet on the hillside, Dolo raised his sword high, roaring into the wind:
"Did you hear the Master’s command? Complete destruction! For Ashen Hollow!"
"For Ashen Hollow!" the monsters screamed back, a storm of fury and fanaticism.
They stared at the allied forces with hunger in their eyes—eyes filled with greed, with madness, with the fire of conquest.
The Kingdom’s Allied Forces stood frozen, facing the inferno.
The stalemate shattered.
War—had begun.
(End of Chapter)
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