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Chapter 345: The Fall of the Northlands
"Gods above," Viscount Luton murmured again, his face lit by an unearthly glow.
A cascade of sunlight poured through the rifts in the clouds—first faint and gentle, then intensifying, blazing into a radiant flood that bathed the entire Earth. The sky’s clouds were dyed gold, then scattered by the wind like ash. On the ground, the female priest raised her staff high.
[Sacred Sun Ignition]
Once a sacred ritual spell of the Faldran Empire, meant to manifest divine miracles in grand ceremonies—now it was wielded to serve a Red Dragon.
As this spectacle unfolded, the mournful lament that had echoed across the battlefield slowly faded. Northern nobles, allied soldiers, even the people of Ashen Hollow—all turned their eyes upward, transfixed, staring at the sky.
"Roar—"
A long, echoing roar split the air, its power so palpable it seemed to ripple through the very air. Instantly, the wasteland fell silent.
There, soaring through the heavens, was a Red Dragon—over thirty meters long—its massive wings thrashing the sky, summoning hurricanes. Its crimson scales, metallic and gleaming, shimmered under the sunlight. Each beat of its wings warped the air with heat, as if the sky itself bent in submission.
Luton shielded his eyes with one hand—whether from the blinding light or the sheer dread of the figure in the sky, he couldn’t say. His lips twitched. His body trembled.
"Again… it’s happening again."
"No… different."
"He’s stronger. Far more powerful than I remember. More terrifying."
Viscount Luton shook his head slowly, frowning, whispering to himself.
As a survivor of the Tiriel massacre, the memory of that day had haunted him for years—replaying in his mind like a recurring nightmare. Now, a new nightmare was beginning.
"Gods above…"
"Will he kill us all?"
"I don’t know."
"Then… we wait."
The remaining Northern nobles and soldiers stood frozen. Even their long spears and swords, dropped to the ground, were left where they fell—no one would bother to pick them up. Not when it no longer mattered.
Even with tens of thousands of troops, even with fine weapons and ample supplies, they were nothing. Useless.
Rebellion was meaningless.
Who could wield a blade against a cataclysm?
One by one, they stared at the sky, each heart pounding with the same thought.
Kai Xiusu hovered in the heavens, surveying the trembling masses below. His pale golden eyes glowed faintly in the light.
His voice was quiet—but it carried across the wasteland, reaching every ear on the battlefield.
"Northern Regions is dead."
"Ember shall endure."
His tone was flat, cold—no emotion, only a chilling proclamation.
This was the death knell of the Northern Regions. The declaration of a new order under the Kingdom of Ashen.
"No…"
"Why… why is this happening?"
Viscount Luton collapsed to his knees, head bowed in despair, a raw, guttural cry escaping his throat. Tears soaked into the soil beneath him.
But even now, he could not believe it. Not truly.
Luton Sieg had been born in Stravburg, inheriting a fief from his father’s legacy. He had spent his life studying Northern history, exchanging ideas with scholars across the realm—living comfortably among the elite of the Northern nobility.
Ten years.
Just ten years.
And yet, the Red Dragon from the north had risen—miraculously, terrifyingly—building a kingdom of dread.
Now, under the might of the Kingdom of Ashen, his homeland had fallen. The noble order he had known—his very identity—was crumbling.
"Ended…"
"Northern Regions is gone! Northern Regions is gone!"
"Gods… is this punishment?"
"Apocalypse. It’s the end!"
Many of the Northern nobles within the Allied military formation wore the same expressions—some collapsed to the ground, others pale with shock, some staring blankly, some even laughing hysterically, lost to madness.
Panic, wailing, cries of despair—filled the ranks.
They knew. It was over.
All that had come before—every tradition, every system—was being shattered. The thousand-year-old nobility of Anzeta, the very foundation of their world, was gone.
Meanwhile, from the Kingdom of Ashen came a thunderous wave of roaring cheers—like a firestorm ignited. Goblin, Ogre, Tiefling, all raised their weapons, screaming in triumph. The two-headed dragons roared in unison. Blue Dragons and White Dragons bellowed with ecstatic fury.
"Ember shall endure!"
"Roar—"
"Victory without defeat!"
"For the Kingdom of Ashen!"
"King Kai Xiusu! Your Majesty!"
Even the players were swept up in the frenzy, howling like madmen—though their words were bizarre, almost absurd.
"Die, kingdom scum!"
"For Faction Contribution and gold coins!"
"Master Kai Xiusu is so hot—want to hug his tail!"
Among the ecstatic crowd, Stuffed Bun clutched the leash of his Wyvern, face ashen.
"I haven’t even finished my Contribution Points… why is it over already?"
Marshal Dolo gave the order. The army of the Kingdom of Ashen advanced once more, marching in perfect formation, steadily closing the gap with the Allied Forces.
The river trembled. The earth shook.
But there was no resistance.
The Allied Forces had lost all will to fight. They stood in silence, awaiting their fate—drowning in the suffocating stillness of despair.
Then, finally, one Northern noble—broken by the weight of it all—lost his mind. He charged alone, rifle in hand, straight at the advancing army.
"Monster!" he screamed. "I am of noble blood!"
But the answer came in a storm of gunfire. The man was torn apart—reduced to a sieve. His corpse riddled with bullet holes.
The Red Dragon remained aloft, indifferent to the chaos below. Its vast wings cast a shadow across the wasteland. In its vertical pupils, the battlefield reflected—broken, scarred, a graveyard of war.
"At last… it ends."
"Anzeta’s Great Wasteland… is mine."
Kai Xiusu thought.
The Golden Trophy shimmered in his mind.
[Conqueror of Nations]
"A war of utter despair. The legendary 'Silver Wings' fell to earth. The heroes from Faldran perished. Even the radiant light of Heaven’s Mountain could not quench his wrath. The thousand-year-old kingdom of Northern Regions—gone. Its people now bound under the Dragon’s rule, slaves to his ambition."
—Anzeta Chronicles: The Fall of the Northlands
"A glorious age dawns. Another milestone in the Empire’s grand design. The undefeated sovereign has once again claimed victory in radiance."
—Imperial Archives: Official History of the Northern Alliance Kingdom
Luton Sieg, Citizen of Anzeta
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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