Chapter 331: Red and Silver (IV)
Oszedro trembled with fury, his scales twitching visibly across his face, the once solemn visage of the ancient dragon now twisted into something almost grotesque. His massive silver body shimmered uneasily—half veiled in dull, dusty haze, the other half blazing with radiant auras, as if forcibly split between two conflicting filters.
"Despicable, treacherous Evil Dragon!"
"You will pay for your crimes!"
The Ancient Silver Dragon roared again, the sound thick with uncontainable wrath.
With a mighty surge, Oszedro thrust out his right claw. A complex, multi-layered Rune Array erupted from his palm, spanning several meters. Instantly, the heavy stones on the ground, broken tree trunks, and shattered corpses rose into the air. The surrounding landscape transformed into an eerie, otherworldly void—like the edge of the Astral Plane.
Within a hundred meters, the Ancient Silver Dragon had rewritten gravity itself. This was the innate spellcasting power of the Silver Dragon—absolute dominion over the laws of physics.
"What crimes?" Kai Xiusu sneered without mercy. "Was it my fault for raising the people’s lives? For launching a counterattack in this war? For shattering the Northern Noble Leadership’s dream of eternal rule over Anzeta? Or perhaps—destroying your old miser’s hoard, leaving you half-broke?"
The Red Dragon soared high above, its wings snapping open with explosive force. Muscles rippled along the wing bones, generating a powerful Wingstorm that countered the inverted gravity. The colossal dragon body remained suspended midair, unshaken.
Kai Xiusu’s taunts only fueled the Silver Dragon’s rage. The roar that followed was like a thunderbolt tearing through the sky.
"Lies! You cannot provoke me!"
"For generations, our Metal Dragon Race has sacrificed everything—countless lives, immense effort—to maintain the balance between mortals and dragons. To prevent the Tragedy of the Ancient Era from repeating!"
"And you—filthy spawn of Tiamat—instead of using the power bestowed by Aio for good, you’ve turned it to the Destruction of Order!"
The Ancient Silver Dragon parted his jaws slightly. His cheek scales glowed like polished silver. From the massive maw—engraved with the sacred "Dragon’s Jaw"—spewed forth a torrent of snow-white frost.
But the Red Dragon was no longer trapped, as Oszedro had feared. Thanks to his Aerial Maneuverability and the grace of Graceful as a Dragon, Kai Xiusu’s flight had reached perfection.
Whoosh—
With a fluid, unnatural motion, the Red Dragon slashed its wings through the anti-gravity field, dancing through the air like a living storm. A crimson afterimage streaked around the Ancient Silver Dragon, circling it at blinding speed. The white breath lagged behind—too slow to catch even the tip of its tail.
As the circling intensified, a hurricane formed around the Red Dragon. Combined with the flames that wrapped his body, the storm began to twist into a colossal Fire Tornado.
"Oszedro! You’ve been hibernating for centuries—you’ve lost your mind in the long slumber!"
"Your leaky system of order is obsolete!"
"The ancient, corrupt regime of the Northern Regions must be scattered into the trash heap of history!"
"And you—hypocritical Silver Dragon, wearing a mask of virtue—your so-called 'Keeper of Order' is nothing but an obstacle to historical progress!"
Roar—
The dragon’s cry echoed across the wasteland like a death knell.
Red fire and silver ice clashed in midair—heat and cold colliding in violent bursts. Steam erupted into the sky in thick, roaring plumes. A towering column of mist shot up from the earth, stretching toward the heavens, expanding with terrifying speed. The air became a lifeless zone: scorching vapor, flying debris, wild flames, and shattered ice shards swirling in chaos.
"Retreat! Evacuate—now!"
"This is beyond our strength!"
Marshal Dolo, commanding from the battlefield, issued the order without hesitation. Under the coordination of junior officers, the royal army withdrew in orderly fashion to the rear lines.
Tieflings, Great Goblins, and Ogre tribesmen raised their weapons high, though they couldn’t see the battle through the swirling mists. Yet that didn’t stop them from cheering wildly for the Red Dragon in the legendary Battle of the Two Dragons.
The Players, however, were chaos incarnate—freely scattering in every direction, some even stepping forward to watch, unconcerned even when caught in the storm. They laughed, shouted, and mocked the spectacle.
"Effects maxed out! This is insane!"
"Whoa—was that cutscene supposed to do damage?"
"I'm flying! I'm actually flying!"
"Wait—why am I on fire?!"
"Look! That guy’s burned to a crisp!"
The Allied Forces’ soldiers and nobles were utterly disorganized—composed as they were of personal armies from various home clans, their structure resembled nothing but pure chaos.
Tens of thousands surged backward in panic, causing stampedes. Some were sucked into the hurricane, crushed or torn apart. Unlike the Players—undying, immortal entities—these mortals weren’t so lucky. Once caught in the ripple of war, they would truly bid farewell to this world… forever.
"What is that thing?!"
"Damn it, don’t get near!"
"Get away!"
"Gods, the wind’s too strong! I’m being pulled in—help me—!"
Viscount Luton fled with every ounce of strength, but his trembling legs and soaked trousers betrayed him. He fell hard, sprawling on the ground, trembling in terror. He turned his head upward, staring at the apocalyptic scene above.
"By the gods above… what kind of power is this?"
"How can mortals stand against such beings?"
He watched the battle that could shake Anzeta itself, whispering to himself.
A sudden thought struck him: this epic clash… it should not be buried in history’s flood. Someone must record it—must.
Behind the Allied lines, Duke Leo stood in silence, gazing upward.
Through the rolling white smoke, glimpses of dragon scales flashed—fleeting, massive shadows. The earth screamed like a newborn infant, shaking violently. The sky above cracked open with lightning, hurricanes, hailstones, and even falling meteorites. Faint stars flickered in the heavens, their mere presence releasing enough energy to kill hundreds.
For the first time in decades, Leo felt his grand schemes—his ambitions, his machinations—were nothing but a joke. Even the death of his own son had not left him so hollow.
"Dragons…"
"They can destroy everything with ease."
"Such creatures… they should never have existed in this world."
Leo Bosk looked up at the shadow of the dragon above, his lips twitching slightly as he whispered to himself.
He was Duke of the Bosk Duchy.
The nominal King of the Northern Union Kingdom.
A man born of noble blood—meant to lead Anzeta, to decide the fate of the Northern Regions.
Not some monstrous spectacle in the sky.
Suddenly, a low, deep voice echoed in his mind—unexpected, yet somehow inevitable.
"Would you like… revenge?"
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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