Chapter 577: Dawn's曙光
“What is that?”
“By Molradin, it’s a Dragon! A Golden Dragon!”
“I’ve never seen such a magnificent, awe-inspiring beast—he looks like a statue forged from molten gold!”
“Are those our Relief Forces?”
A golden Dragon emerged from the horizon. On the City Wall, the dwarves all lifted their heads in unison, faces etched with shock, momentarily forgetting the orcish offensive.
The orcs, too, had noticed the unwelcome guest—and were stunned to discover the Golden Dragon was diving straight toward them.
—Those fleshy, whiskered faces bore an air of solemn dignity. Their eyes, like molten gold pools, boiled with wrathful fire.
Orcish officers and shamans felt an oppressive, terrifying aura pressing down on their shoulders. Panic surged through them. They screamed in terror.
“It’s a Golden Dragon!”
“That cursed beast must be the dwarves’ ally! Quick—shoot down that damned golden lizard!”
At the order, the orcs hastily raised their crude bows and loosed arrows into the sky. But against the Dragon’s golden scales, their weapons were as weak as straw. Most arrows wobbled helplessly, falling like dead leaves.
Even those that struck their mark left not a single scratch on the impenetrable armor of scales.
The Golden Dragon looked down upon the swarming horde below. His vertical pupils flared with fury.
Slowly, he opened his maw. His throat and chest flared with a surge of fire—like a sun of intense heat hidden within his body.
“Father God Gwush! It’s coming—this Dragon is flying straight at us!”
“How do we stop it?”
“Get down!”
“Watch out—it’s Dragonfire!”
Under the orcs’ terrified gaze, the Dragon unfurled his vast, wave-like wings and plunged downward.
His massive shadow engulfed the City Wall, swallowing hundreds of dwarves and orcs alike. With each sweep of his wings, a hurricane roared forth.
“Boom—”
A thunderous explosion tore through the air. A violent thermal surge blasted outward, and torrents of blazing flames erupted from the Dragon’s mouth.
In an instant, the orcs massed outside the city were engulfed in fire. Even the ladders propped against the wall ignited. Hundreds screamed in agony as they fell.
“No!”
“It’s burning! Damn it—I’m on fire!”
“By Father God Gwush—where did this Golden Dragon even come from?!”
The orcs writhed in the merciless inferno. Their beast-fur garments and leather armor burned away, leaving only charred remains.
“No… not yet! I haven’t reached Aivendeldan! I haven’t enslaved the dwarves yet!”
“Father God, I don’t want to die here!”
Beneath the searing flames, the surviving orcs were dazed and broken, collapsing to their knees, begging the sky for mercy.
But the Dragon did not relent.
“Roar—!”
A thunderous, echoing roar split the air, echoing through the Blackstone Mountains—so loud it drowned out the orcs’ cries of pain.
To the orcs, this creature was a specter of death. It glided along the City Wall of Aivendeldan, continuously breathing torrents of fire.
Beyond the wall, a searing river of flame stretched for hundreds of meters. Ash flew like snow. Wildfires raged across the battlefield. The air shimmered with heat distortion. Ashen flames blanketed the field.
The Dragon soared, circled, then descended in a long, deadly dive—again and again—until every orc outside the city had been reduced to ash.
In less than ten minutes, tens of thousands of orcs were consumed by Dragonfire. A mountain of charred corpses rose from the battlefield.
“By Molradin…”
“The orcish siege force… just wiped out.”
“Thank the gods. This stranger Dragon must be an ally of the High Mountain Kingdom.”
On the City Wall, the dwarves—relieved, shaken, and exhilarated—watched the orcs burn. They felt a mix of grim satisfaction and astonishment at the Dragon’s power—how easily it crushed the enemy, like dry stalks beneath a storm.
They looked up once more. The Blood Mist and Black Cloud conjured by the orc shamans had been incinerated by flame. The sun reemerged, bathing the land in golden light.
Sunlight poured down, glistening across the vast golden scales of the Dragon. His form seemed to shimmer with a sacred aura, as if wrapped in divine radiance.
Even the most rough-hewn dwarf warriors stood speechless, mouths agape, unable to speak—only letting out a low, awed “Hoo…”
The eldest and wisest among them, Biyao, raised his head. His throat trembled with emotion. His white beard quivered with excitement.
“Comrades! This noble, righteous guest has saved Aivendeldan! He has saved our High Mountain Kingdom!”
He raised his scepter high.
“He is the Dawn’s曙光!”
“Dragon of Dawn!”
“Praise this mighty Golden Dragon!”
The dwarf warriors roared in unison, cheering for the sky-born Relief Force. Their voices thundered across the mountains.
High above, the Golden Dragon flapped his undulating wings, giving a slight nod—his silent homage to the dwarves below.
On the battlefield beneath the City Wall, the orc shamans panicked, their focus shattered by the spreading inferno.
And the bound Aid finally found his chance. With a sudden surge of strength, he broke free from the shamans’ divine chains. His eyes flashed with fury.
“Filthy offspring of Gush!”
The King of the Dwarves raised his War Hammer high. Its sound rang out like thunder.
Countless boulders gathered in the sky, hovering like fallen stars.
“Look! The Golden Dragon’s flames burn bright! Your brutal army is turning to ash!”
The orc shamans shook their heads in terror.
“No… impossible! Father God has blinded the gods! Relief Forces from Heaven’s Mountain should not have come here!”
“Damned! The prophecy of One-Eyed God never mentioned this Dragon! It doesn’t belong to us!”
But Aid surveyed them, fire blazing in his eyes.
“The King of the Dwarves roared, swinging his War Hammer with righteous fury:
“This is your fate! Before the might of justice and order, you filthy, brutal beasts are nothing!”
“Boom!”
As he spoke, the massive boulders fell like meteors, crushing the ground. Dust exploded in all directions, shaking the earth.
The fleeing orc shamans had no chance. They were crushed beneath the falling monoliths, turned into pulp.
Only one managed to transform into black smoke, escaping the impact. But Aid leapt forward in a single bound, closing the distance in an instant.
The orc shaman laughed wildly, clutching his bone staff, muttering incantations.
“Useless… even a Dragon cannot withstand Ghuush’s Blood Spear! Dwarf King… remember—Aivendeldan will become our fortress. The dwarves will become our slaves!”
Aid laughed bitterly, his voice trembling with rage.
“You’re dead.”
Crack!
With one brutal blow, he shattered the shaman’s skull. Fresh blood and viscous brain matter splattered across his armor.
The King of the Dwarves spun through the orc ranks, whipping up a dust storm. His War Hammer spun like a whirlwind, crushing skulls and sending orcs screaming in agony.
“Little pest—I’ll crush you!”
A half-orc giant, nearly five meters tall and wielding a bone club, charged forward with terrifying fury.
Aid swung his hammer—crushing both knees. The giant collapsed to his knees, howling in pain.
Then, with a sudden leap, Aid raised the hammer high—bringing it down with brutal force, crushing the giant’s head like a rotten melon.
Crack!
Aid stood slowly, his body soaked in orc blood. His hammer, stained crimson, still clung to scraps of flesh.
Within a hundred meters, not a single orc remained alive.
In just moments, the dozen orc shamans who had held him back, and hundreds of elite orc warriors, were utterly annihilated.
—This was the true power of the “Lord of the Highlands,” Aid Klein.
Aid stood in a pool of blood, raising his War Hammer toward the City Wall.
“MY PEOPLE!” he roared, voice raw with fury. “The orcs’ conspiracy will never succeed! The sacred glory of Molradin shall forever shine upon this land! With me—Counterattack! Drive Ghuush’s filthy spawn from this soil!”
As he finished speaking, he locked eyes with the Dragon in the sky—giving a solemn nod of gratitude to the mysterious savior.
The King of the Dwarves dared not imagine what would have happened if this golden Dragon had not arrived. In his weakened state, the dwarves would have been overrun.
“Great shield-god Dumason bless! It is Aid, His Majesty!”
“By Molradin, I knew His Majesty would not fall so easily!”
“Counterattack!”
“Drive the orcs back to the North!”
Seeing their King emerge from the orc horde, bloodied but unbroken, the dwarves inside Aivendeldan erupted in fury.
Led by Aid, they poured from the city—war hammers and swords raised high—chasing the remnants of the orc army.
After the Dragon’s fiery onslaught, the orcs had lost all will to fight. They fled in terror, scattered like leaves in a storm, pursued relentlessly by the dwarves.
The orc’s entire vanguard force—tens of thousands—was completely destroyed.
On the scorched, corpse-littered ground, the dwarves shouted their victory, celebrating this hard-won triumph.
“Molradin Long Live!”
“High Mountain Kingdom Never Falls!”
“Praise this unknown, miraculous guest! Our victory is his doing!”
They chanted the names of their gods, praised their King, and watched with deep gratitude toward the “Dragon of Dawn.”
Path of Glory, Tombstone of the Orcs.
A vulture hovered in the sky, screeching with a rasping cry.
This once-frontline fortress, which had long stood against orc invasions, now served as the great stronghold of the Crimson Blood Tribe—tens of thousands of orcs gathered here.
On the spine of a massive steppe drake, atop a throne woven from bones, Batu Skullcrusher narrowed his single eye. His face twisted with cruel amusement.
“Cowards.”
Far off, the scattered remnants of the orc vanguard fled in disarray—pale, ragged, scorched and broken.
“Who gave you permission to flee from battle?”
Batu slowly rose from his bony throne, surveying the broken survivors. His voice carried the weight of thunder.
“Chieftain… it was a Golden Dragon! A stranger… a Golden Dragon attacked us! Our vanguard was nearly at Aivendeldan—then he barged in, breathing Dragonfire!”
The orc commander dropped to his knees, bowing his head, pounding his forehead against the earth until blood ran.
“A Golden Dragon?”
Batu’s single eye narrowed. His brow furrowed. The hollow socket flickered with an unnatural light.
According to Father God’s will, the gods of Heaven’s Mountain had been blinded. Relief Forces should not arrive for days. This was not in his plan.
But then his expression darkened—fierce, merciless.
“This is no excuse for cowardice. The Great Father God Gwush said: those too weak to fight for their clan must be pierced with spears.”
The orc commander’s face drained of color. His legs trembled. He tried to struggle, to flee once more.
But then he realized—north was blocked by orcs, south by dwarves. He was trapped.
“No… no, Chieftain! I fought for our people! I slaughtered goblins on the Ugo plains for you—”
Batu did not listen. With a cold, swift motion, he raised his great axe and slashed downward.
Slash—
Bloodlight flashed. Hundreds of fresh orc heads flew into the air, spraying crimson in a violent arc.
All the fleeing orcs were slaughtered where they stood. No mercy.
Tens of thousands of orcs watched in silence, frozen. The air itself seemed to freeze.
Batu leapt down from the drake’s back, picked up a still-warm head, and raised it high—showing it to all.
“Do you see? This is the fate of deserters! Cowards do not enter the Nishak Realm. Their spirits will rot and stink, cast out forever into the Place of No Return! Remember—beasts are raiders. We must make our enemies fear us from the depths of their souls!”
He tossed the head aside, crushing it underfoot.
Then he raised his arm, his single eye blazing with frenzy and fury.
“One-Eyed God watches you all. Every sin is clear in His sight. And the greatest sin? Cowardice!”
“For Father God Gwush! Conquest and slaughter! Destroy our enemies!”
“For Father God Gwush!”
“Cowards fleeing battle deserve their fate!”
Inspired by his words, tens of thousands of orcs raised spears and swords, roaring in bloodlust—mocking the broken remnants.
They believed every word.
In the orc clans, the Ghuush Church didn’t just preach faith—it also purged the sick, weak, lame, or unworthy—regardless of age or status.
Survival of the fittest. Strength rules. The weak are discarded—food for beasts.
This was the orc way.
Batu stood atop the cliff, gazing down at the frenzied horde. Then he turned his gaze south—his single eye alight with burning ambition.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
