Chapter 118: Cataclysm (I)
Robert rode at the rear of the marching army, his face slick with sweat as he watched the slow, grueling progress of the troops. To his sides, dozens of soldiers strained to push the massive Dragon-Slaying Trebuchet forward. The enormous wheels on the siege engine groaned and turned with a screech of grinding metal, each rotation a battle against weight and resistance.
Beside him, “Gray Hawk” Slaud rode a black stallion, his expression grim beneath the shadow of his hood.
“This damned place is getting hotter by the minute,” Robert muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. He turned to the Staff Officer beside him. “Why are we moving so slowly? How much longer until we clear the Tiriel Throat?”
The officer’s voice was low and heavy. “Sir, our forces have just endured a brutal engagement. This pace is to be expected.”
“Robert, sir!” A messenger galloped up, voice sharp with urgency. “We’ve found a stone wall ahead—it’s blocking the entire throat!”
“What?” Robert’s voice cracked with disbelief. “That’s impossible! They just passed through!”
Slaud’s tone was grave. “Spellcaster. There’s a high-level caster in Ashen Hollow. If I’m not mistaken, that’s a Stone Wall spell—Fifth-Level Evocation. It creates an unbreakable barrier of solid rock.”
“So they anticipated us,” Robert said, his voice tightening. “They prepared for us in advance.”
“What do we do?” His hands trembled. Sweat poured down his temples.
Slaud remained calm. “Don’t worry, sir. The wall can be breached. And even a great mage can’t sustain such a spell indefinitely.”
“Then… then that’s good,” Robert mumbled, clutching his handkerchief again, wiping his brow.
The heat in the Tiriel Valley had become unbearable—far worse than when the Allied Forces first entered. It felt like a furnace, the air thick with the scent of scorched dust and ash. Robert could almost taste the dry, burning breath of the sky.
Then—fire.
The word struck him like a hammer.
Heat.
Fire.
Red Dragon.
The beast was known as the “Volcanic Dragon.” And now, with the sudden retreat of the Burnt Legion, and the Red Dragon’s absence from the battlefield—Robert’s gut twisted with dread.
He’d learned long ago: his instincts were rarely wrong.
“M-My lord…” The Staff Officer’s voice cracked. “Please… turn around.”
Robert’s thoughts shattered. He turned slowly, his heart sinking.
Then he fell.
He crashed to the ground, staring upward in horror, mouth agape.
“Tampas above…”
Fire.
Endless, devouring fire.
The western half of the sky burned crimson, the horizon a pulsing, searing line of flame. Thick plumes of smoke rose like a shroud, blotting out the sun, swallowing the earth.
A hurricane roared from the southwest, tearing across the battlefield. Corpses were lifted into the air, limbs torn loose and scattered like insects, flung into the inferno above. Fragments of flesh and bone were caught in the thermal surge, ignited mid-flight, bursting into incendiary fireballs that rained down like molten stars.
And at the heart of the firestorm—
A colossal Red Dragon, wings spread wide, its body a living embodiment of flame.
It was the soul of the fire, the beating heart of the burning world. With every beat of its wings, the flames surged, breathing like a living thing.
“Slaud…” Robert whispered, his voice hollow.
“Is this… an illusion?”
It wasn’t a question.
He stared up at the sky, his face painted red by the infernal glow. The heat pressed against his skin like a physical force. He could feel the searing wind, smell the acrid stench of sulfur and burning flesh.
Slaud didn’t answer. He stood frozen, staring into the distance, his voice trembling.
“Controlling the weather…
That’s an Eighth-Level Spell.”
The gray-cloaked mage screamed, his voice breaking into madness.
The Allied troops were shattered. They screamed, wailed, prayed—desperate cries lost in the roar of the apocalypse.
“Gods above…”
“This is hell…”
“No… we never should have fought this…”
The path ahead was sealed by an unbreakable stone wall. Behind them—nothing but endless fire.
To survive now, they could only pray for a miracle. A divine intervention to end this catastrophe.
But no such thing had occurred in the thousand years of the Third Age.
This was not war.
This was deadlock.
This was an Inferno-Scorched Hellscape.
“ROOOOAAARRR!”
From within the storm of fire, Kai Xiusu roared—a voice that shook the heavens.
“Foolish mortals…”
“I am fire. I am death.”
“I will bring you to utter annihilation.”
Extreme heat surged upward, forming towering thermal columns.
Fire dragons writhed from the earth, twisting, leaping, spiraling into the sky. The wind grew stronger, whipping everything—grass, corpses, ash, flame—into a violent vortex.
The fire dragons merged, twisting into a single, monstrous Fire Tornado that spun across the valley, a storm of flame stretching for miles.
The world seemed torn open.
And there, at the heart of the storm, the Red Dragon glided through a column of fire connecting earth and sky, wings beating with divine fury. Each motion fed the tornado, fanned the flames, made the inferno alive.
The Fire Tornado ravaged the earth. It annihilated everything in its path.
And the Allied Forces had no retreat.
Robert finally staggered to his feet, dazed, breathless.
He looked up at the dragon—then his gaze snapped to the four Dragon-Slaying Trebuchets, shrouded beneath thick cloths.
A spark ignited in his eyes.
The last hope.
If those ballistae could kill the Icewing that once ravaged the northern regions a century ago…
Then perhaps, just perhaps, they could pierce the heart of this Cataclysm.
His jaw clenched. His voice dropped to a growl.
“Kill it. Just… kill it.”
“Dragon-Slaying Trebuchets—prepare! At all costs—kill that damned Red Dragon!”
He shoved past panicked soldiers, ripped the heavy cloth from the weapon’s frame, and threw his entire weight into pushing it forward.
“Sir, let me help!”
A group of trusted guardsmen saw his resolve. With courage born of desperation, they surged forward, joining him in the effort. Together, they heaved the massive siege engine into position, targeting the sky.
A bolt, thick as a man’s arm and over two meters long, lay in its bed. The iron tip gleamed coldly, etched with dried blood—blood from a dragon’s heart, long ago pierced.
The moment had come again.
The flames roared closer.
The world was about to burn.
“Just hit it…” Robert whispered, trembling.
“…Then it ends.”
He gripped the trebuchet’s frame, eyes locked on the approaching Red Dragon. Sweat dripped from his chin. His breath caught. His heart hammered against his ribs.
Through the veil of fire that scorched the heavens and earth, he saw them—those golden, vertical pupils, staring down at him with cold, infinite disdain.
Fire raged. The air was thick with tension.
One man. One dragon. Eye to eye.
And in that gaze, Robert saw it—
a flicker of contempt.
(End of Chapter)
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