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Chapter 356 – Belon Castle, Ferenz Viscounty, Belon Castle.
Perched atop a rugged peak, the fortress loomed over the raging river below, its uneven walls, towering battlements, and massive, iron-studded gate forming a formidable defense. A moat and drawbridge guarded the main passage, while Viscount’s soldiers patrolled with vigilance. Behind the colossal portcullis, the entrance to the Lord’s domain remained sealed and secure.
For thousands of years, Northern Nobles had waged endless wars over land, grain, livestock, and people. The constant conflict drove them to build ever-larger and more elaborate castles, each one a bulwark to protect their fiefdoms.
Belon Castle had been in the Lott family for generations, and now it stood under the stewardship of Viscount Horace Lott.
“What?”
“You’re saying Vichy City has fallen? In less than two days?”
“Are you certain the intelligence is accurate?”
“Baron Hokot is dead—found in his own residence.”
As the knight delivered the report, Viscount Horace Lott stood frozen, eyes wide, speechless. The sheer magnitude of the news struck him like a thunderclap.
He knew, better than anyone, just how strong Vichy City’s walls were—tall, thick, and built to withstand siege. Compared to that fortress, Belon Castle was little more than a pile of stones. If even Vichy City had crumbled beneath the onslaught of the Kingdom of Ashen’s army, what hope did his own stronghold have?
After long silence, Horace finally spoke:
“We mustn’t spread word.”
“Best not let those Home scum find out.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Faced with a legendary, unbeatable enemy, Horace had no choice but to bury his head in the sand—praying, like a ostrich, that the enemy would overlook him.
After all, the Northern Regions were littered with such fortresses. If the Kingdom of Ashen truly wanted to eradicate them all, even they would be stretched too thin.
“Rumor has it,” Horace mused, “a mage skilled in teleportation has appeared in the north—willing to aid Nobles. Perhaps I could use his power to flee Anzeta.”
But he had no idea that within the Kingdom of Ashen, a relentless, undying force of Stellarfallen still prowled the shadows.
Nor did he realize that his imagined “retreat path” was already a death trap—completely blocked, long since sealed.
“ROOOOAR—”
Suddenly, a thunderous roar split the sky.
Horace rushed to the castle’s window, staring upward in horror. Three Wyverns swept across the heavens, circling the fortress before diving low over its turrets. On their backs, figures in human form sat atop the beasts.
“The Crimson Scale Conquerors,” Knight Mithra muttered, his voice grim. His face darkened. “They’re coming.”
Horace trembled, the raw power in that roar vibrating through his bones. “W-What… in the name of the gods… is that thing?”
Knight Mithra dropped to one knee, whispering a prayer under his breath:
“When the Dragon’s Roar echoes from afar, the Crimson Scale Conquerors ride forth upon massive, brutal Dragonblood beasts from the sky.”
He paused, then continued, his tone heavy with dread:
“They bring endless flames… and utter death.”
This tale had been whispered across the Northern Regions for generations—originating, it was said, from a lone adventurer who barely escaped the Kingdom of Ashen’s clutches.
Mithra’s expression grew darker. “Viscount, they are the most feared scouts of the Kingdom of Ashen. And we… we’ve been marked.”
“By the gods…” Horace stared at the tiny black specks in the sky, his voice barely a whisper.
“WOOOOOOO! TAKE OFF!”
At that very moment, the very beings Mithra had just described—those dreaded “Scouts of Death”—were roaring cheers across the sky, utterly unbothered by the legends that surrounded them.
Even the Wyverns, caught in the frenzy, let out shrill, spine-tingling shrieks. The noise was so overwhelming that several players had to cover their ears—or worse, stuff their hands into the gaping maws of their beasts to drown out the sound.
“Finally found a decent castle. Should be worth a nice haul,” Stuffed Bun grinned, licking his lips. “About time.”
“Yeah, it’s a change from that Baron’s shithole,” another player groaned. “All it had was a warehouse full of grain. Wallets were emptier than my pockets.”
“Even the grain’s been handed out to peasant laborers. Too much hassle to sell it.”
Stuffed Bun wiped a drool from the corner of his mouth, eyes gleaming with greed. “This time, I’m gonna plunder hard—make up for all the losses!”
“I heard that Wandering Beast raided a Baron’s manor and seized goods worth 100,000 gold coins. Just seeing him get rich made me furious.”
Singo shrugged, calm as ever. “Don’t get your hopes up. He got lucky—caught the Baron in the middle of moving his treasure. Perfect timing.”
“Supposedly, it was a magic coin deal,” he added. “But Langli BaiTiao swooped in and stole it. Charlotte nearly challenged him to a duel over it.”
Stuffed Bun smirked. “Well, given Charlotte’s face—she’s got the kind of look that could get her hit by a cart just walking to the market. Makes sense.”
“But… this castle looks solid. Can we really take it with just the six of us?”
Singo smirked. “We’ve got reinforcements.”
He gave a subtle squeeze of his thighs, and his two-headed dragon let out a deafening roar—hovering mid-air before descending smoothly to the ground.
Stuffed Bun patted Noodles’ neck and leapt down, landing beside him.
“Wow… so many people,” he muttered, scanning the scene.
The hillside was already packed with over a hundred players, buzzing with energy.
“When’s the attack start?”
“Dude, not him again—Holy Light Guy?!”
Their outfits clashed violently with the medieval setting—armor-clad warriors, girls in frilly pink dresses, even someone completely naked, their muscular frame glowing under the radiant Holy Light.
And the siege equipment? It was a chaotic mix of eras—ancient trebuchets, magic cannons, crude battering rams, all thrown together like a madman’s dream.
“Yo, you made it!” Tian Sheng Zhan Kuang waved his axe, wiping grease from his bald head—its surface already worn smooth with age.
Xia Ye Qiu Yu smiled, waving back, a dazzling burst of flame-light dancing across his fingers.
Stuffed Bun slid off the Wyvern with practiced ease, whispering, “Holy hell—so many players. More wolves, less meat. How much are we even gonna get?”
Tian Sheng Zhan Kuang sighed. “Not my fault they all came. They’re after the Viscount’s castle too.”
Singo said, “In the Northern Regions, it’s like this now—every siege is a race. If you’re not first, you get nothing.”
Xia Ye Qiu Yu nodded, echoing, “Heard the Royal Power faction has already seized thirteen cities. At that pace… we’ll lose the entire north in two months.”
Stuffed Bun groaned. “Then we’ll just have to settle for a little soup.”
“ROBBERY BITE!”
“Hand over the gold!”
“FOR THE TAIL OF LORD KAI XIUSU!”
One by one, Wyverns carrying knights soared back into the sky. The players pushed their bizarre siege machines forward, shouting war cries in every language under the sun, charging toward the distant, looming silhouette of Belon Castle.
(End of Chapter)
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