https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-518-Dolo-Imperial-Wall-Dragon-Scale-Fortress/13677045/
Chapter 517: The Beginning
Savidra Plain, Imperial Wall.
A biting cold wind howled through the fortress’s ventilation shafts, sending shivers down the spine like a mournful cry.
Across the endless wasteland, life had vanished. The sky hung low and dark, and even the hawks soaring above on the wind seemed agitated—frantic, as if sensing the storm that loomed on the horizon.
Deep within the Underground Bastion, officers and soldiers moved with urgency. Footsteps echoed through the passages as men hurried between sectors, their faces drawn with tension. The voice of Imperial Marshal Dolo boomed through the speakers, clear and commanding:
"Soldiers! Before us lies a trial of unimaginable hardship.
You ask: What is our goal?
I answer with one word—Victory—At All Costs.
For without victory, there is no survival. The Great Home must understand this: without victory, there is no existence of the Empire of Ashen, no future for all that Ember represents!
Twelve years ago, King Kai Xiusu forged Ashen Hollow with his own hands. Since then, from nest to kingdom, to the mighty empire we stand as today—we have never failed.
And we will not fail now.
Twelve days ago, the Demons struck Tiriel Mine Shaft.
Nine days ago, Storm Slope Pasture fell.
Three days ago, Mar City was overrun.
Yesterday, the train bound for Isdalia was destroyed.
The vermin from the Abyss have poured forth in full force. They seek to shatter our order, to erase everything we have built!
As warriors of the great Red Dragon, as children of King Kai Xiusu—we will not tolerate this insult. We will not allow these demons to march unchallenged across our lands!
The Empire may be vast, but we have no retreat. Behind us lies Isdalia!"
In a command center deep within the bastion, George flipped through a supply report, listening to the broadcast. He exhaled softly, half-amused:
"Marshal Dolo still loves the spotlight."
"Come in."
A junior officer knocked sharply and stepped inside, handing over the latest intelligence.
"Regimental Commander, we’ve received a ciphered message from higher command. We may be the first frontline position to face the Demon onslaught."
"Hmm. I know.
Tell them to prepare mentally. Stay alert. Don’t treat this war like a game.
Remember—this isn’t a merit grind. These aren’t the soft-backed Northern rabble."
George set the report down, his voice low and steady. He rose from his seat and turned to face the wall map, his eyes scanning the dense network of markers. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Still… whether they’ll breach our frontline today remains to be seen."
He turned toward the window, gazing out into the endless wasteland.
The insignia of a Colonel—golden wyvern stitched onto the shoulder—glinted under the dim light of the underground lamps, sharp and proud.
Imperial Wall.
A colossal defensive line stretching hundreds of miles, built from reinforced concrete and forged into an unyielding fortress. It consisted of three main zones: the Hosy Fortification Zone, the Tel Fortification Zone, and the Lower River Valley Zone. The strongest fortifications stood at Hosy and Tel, while the lower valley relied on the natural barriers of the Inaki River and Olyul River.
Within the wall system stood a vast network of cannons, trenches, fortresses, kitchens, hospitals, and factories—fully equipped and self-sustaining. Larger fortifications even featured steam locomotive tunnels.
A total of 276 regimental command posts were scattered along the line, linked by communication devices. Five hundred thousand soldiers stood on high alert.
This was the largest war in Anzeta’s history—unprecedented in scale, unmatched in centuries. For the first time in a thousand years, Scandian had faced a conflict of this magnitude.
All of the Empire’s accumulated war potential was now unleashed. Troops and supplies poured southward by the minute, steam locomotives hauling men and materiel through the night.
Including support personnel, the number of combatants approached a million.
And if one counted the “indirect participants”—the workers, the engineers, the civilians mobilized—then it could be said: the entire Empire had been drawn into this massive national defense war.
The war machine had roared to life.
But the Empire’s enemy was no less formidable.
They were the Demon Army from the Abyss—ancient, merciless, having destroyed countless mortal realms and slaughtered untold millions across the ages.
The Abyssal Legion was a true killing machine. They reveled in bloodshed, in suffering, in pain. They existed only to spread evil, fear, and chaos.
Now, the clash was imminent.
"Regimental Commander—another report."
"Speak."
"Last night at 9:45 PM, the forward outpost at Leow Village lost contact.
At 10:21 PM, the base at Ande Village went dark.
At 11:45 PM, Akard Village’s outpost vanished from the network.
To date, nearly all Stellarfaller outposts have fallen. Most of the fallen are undergoing ritual resurrection, causing a crowd stampede incident."
George narrowed his eyes. "So fast?"
The Stellarfallen weren’t strong—but they numbered over a million. Their bases were scattered across thousands of villages.
Even if you slaughtered a million pigs, it would take three days.
Yet in just one night, every frontline position was overrun?
That could only mean one thing: the Abyssal Legion was far stronger than anyone had anticipated.
George drew his engraved pistol from his belt, wiping it gently with a handkerchief.
"How long until they reach the Imperial Wall?"
The adjutant swallowed hard, voice heavy with dread:
"According to Command… now."
The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
Suddenly, the entire Underground Bastion trembled—just slightly. The water in the glass on the table rippled.
George stood. He turned again to the window.
And then he froze.
Even after years of battle, even after facing death countless times, George had never witnessed a scene like this.
"By Kai Xiusu above…"
On the horizon, a vast tide surged forward—stretching across the entire wasteland, staining the edge of the world with a mottled, chaotic hue.
But it was no flood.
It was Demons.
Lowly, cheap Timid Demons pressed forward in a writhing mass, shrieking in jagged, cacophonous caws.
Bab Demons—short, thin, and red-skinned—scurried among them like specters, their spine-like ears twitching with cruel laughter.
Then came the giants.
One by one, towering figures strode across the cursed ground. Each step shook the earth. Their breath poured forth in smoke, scorching the air.
Their arms were thick as tree trunks. Their heads—broad, bovine, crowned with massive forward-curving horns—belonged to the Giant Ox Demon.
On its back, a platform bristled with smaller Demons: emaciated, pale, wielding poisoned arrows and wands. It was a living fortress, a mobile war machine.
Frenzied Warrior Demons, Bagulam, and other mid-tier horrors formed a roaring wave, bellowing battle cries as they charged toward the Underground Bastion.
In the sky, Kwase Demons, Kasmar, and Frothmaw flapped their leathery wings, colliding, scraping, their shrieks tearing the air.
The sky was nearly blackened—thick with demons, like a storm of living shadow. Their presence cast long, writhing shadows across the ground.
The sun was extinguished.
The south was plunged into eternal dusk.
And this was only the beginning.
Beyond the snow-capped mountains, Demons still poured forth like a river of darkness, flowing northward without pause, endless and relentless.
Just what George could see—tens of thousands, perhaps more.
And in individual strength? Even the thousands of Frenzied Warrior Demons and Bagulam warbands far outmatched ordinary Imperial soldiers.
This was the most terrifying enemy the Empire had ever faced.
In the bastion, many soldiers began to doubt.
Can we really win?
Can the Empire hold the tide?
Can we even launch a counterattack?
George stared at the oncoming storm, his expression grave.
Yet in his mind, a memory stirred—of the Red Dragon spreading its wings, lifting its head, and letting out a long, echoing roar.
Back then, when he was still a peasant laborer, he had believed the Northern Nobles’ army to be invincible.
Now, he looked at the nervous adjutant beside him.
He continued polishing his pistol—calm, resolute, voice steady.
"The Empire will win.
As always."
(End of Chapter)
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