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Chapter 605: Strategy and Invitation
Walter had sensed Krasus’s unease. After a moment of hesitation, he probed gently: “Lord Krasus… you don’t wish to stand against him?”
The immense Primordial Golden Dragon remained silent, offering no response—perhaps a tacit acknowledgment.
As Chief Regent, Krasus was well aware of what had unfolded in the Prime Material Plane. He knew—to forcibly hinder that Red Dragon would exact a devastating, irreversible cost upon the Golden Dragon Clan. And more than that…
“Ah…” Krasus exhaled deeply, his claw delicately tracing the length of his long gill whiskers. His gaze drifted toward the horizon, solemn and measured, as he spoke:
“It’s not that I don’t wish to aid you. But… that Red Dragon’s status is too unique. He is the first Dragon in nearly ten thousand years to show true potential as a Dragon King—one whose fate could shake the very foundation of our kind. Even King Bahamut and the Five-Colored Dragon Queen have sought to draw him to their side.”
His words carried undeniable sincerity, stripped of pretense. There was no need for deception.
To Mortals, Primordial Golden Dragons often remained indifferent—mere specks in the vast span of their existence, fleeting as a blink of an eye. But this was no ordinary mortal. This was a Divine-Blooded Noble who had once saved the Golden Dragon Clan. For him, Krasus made an exception—granting him respect, treating him as an equal.
Walter did not grow angry. He remained silent for a long moment, then spoke with quiet resolve:
“No matter what title or status King Kai Xiusu holds in your eyes… to me, he is simply a ruthless Red Dragon seeking to conquer my land and enslave my people. Whether or not you lend your hand, I will not yield.”
Hearing this, Krasus gave a faint, wry smile. He rubbed his gill whiskers, not directly answering Walter’s words—but continuing instead:
“That Red Dragon is clever. Young, yet wielding strength beyond the ordinary. He hasn’t rushed to pick a side. Instead, he’s carefully maintained the balance—standing at the boundary between Good and Evil, at the fulcrum between Order and Chaos. He’s become a necessary counterweight, preserving the delicate equilibrium between Metal Dragons and the Five-Colored Dragons. We’ve discussed this among the Elders. He’s not as evil as rumor claims… but he’s far from innocent either. He plays like a child who cries for attention, using himself as a bargaining chip. Every move we make could tip the scales—push him into the arms of the Dark Dragons. And that would bring a catastrophe unlike any the world has known.”
Walter lifted his head, locking eyes with Krasus’s pale golden vertical pupils, each word precise and unyielding:
“Lord Krasus… I thought Golden Dragons were sworn to oppose every crime committed by the Five-Colored Dragons. Now I see… I was naive.”
Hearing the subtle, unmistakable edge of sarcasm in Walter’s words—so bluntly laid bare—Krasus did not flare with anger. He remained calm. With the tip of his scepter, he lightly tapped the ground.
Instantly, the sky ignited in flames, the earth split open in ruin. The screams of humans echoed through the air, their agony deafening. Above, a phantom Dragon with five mismatched heads loomed in the heavens, its wings blotting out the sun, its laugh monstrous and terrifying.
“What… is this?” Walter murmured, stunned.
“Walter,” Krasus said, voice grave, “you are a Hero. You should stand beneath King Bahamut, ready to face the cataclysm that threatens the entire Material Realm. My friend… stop clinging to a war that was doomed from the start. The Sacred Fedran’s allegiance was lost the moment three years ago ended.”
“No,” Walter growled, jaw clenched. “As long as I exist, as long as the world remembers the glory of the past… Sacred Fedran will never die.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes—then vanished. With iron resolve, he tightened his grip on his greatsword, veins standing out on his forearm.
“Where the sun shines… all are under Empire territory!”
“Lord Krasus,” he continued, “I apologize, but I must return to the Material Plane. To Northern Aether. Your future is too distant. I only know this moment—I still fight for the people of Fadalan.”
Krasus sighed, a sound heavy with reluctant admiration. He regarded Walter with eyes that held both pity and deep respect. This Fadalan Divine Offspring’s loyalty, his courage—qualities that even the most discerning of gods would praise. Yet he was too fixated, too consumed by the fading light of a bygone age.
The colossal Primordial Golden Dragon slowly rose to his feet, wings unfolding behind him like a golden storm. Towering over Walter, he stared down with overwhelming majesty.
“Walter, your character is worthy of even the most exacting of good deities. Your gratitude toward the Golden Dragon Clan is etched in my memory. Though I do not support your path, I will bring your plea before the Golden Dragon Council. It will be listed as an agenda item—perhaps one of my kin will extend aid.”
Walter’s face brightened instantly. He bowed deeply. “Thank you, Lord Krasus. Then I shall take my leave.”
He knew full well that mobilizing the entire Golden Dragon Clan was beyond reality. Even the arrival of a single Gold Dragon would be a tremendous advantage. And for Krasus to go this far—this was already generosity beyond duty.
Krasus turned away, whispering softly, a sound meant only for himself:
“Walter… my friend… I hope you still live, decades from now.”
---
In the northeast of the Feiansuo Continent, the Ugo Great Plain stretched endlessly—a vast expanse of ashen green, rippled by cold winds that swept like waves across the grasslands.
“Woo—”
A long, mournful howl echoed through the sky, cutting through the wind’s howl, filling the air with endless sorrow.
In the distance, shadowy figures of Dire Wolves darted through the gales, monstrous beasts moving like ghosts across the plain. Upon their backs rode Ogres, wielding short spears and clad in beast hides—light cavalry of the tribe, known as Wolf Cavalry.
Then, from afar, came the sharp crack of Spines.
“Ssssshhhh—”
A silver arrow, glowing faintly, tore through the cold wind, piercing hundreds of meters of open space—straight into the forehead of an Ogre rider.
“Gah!”
A brief cry. The Ogre slumped from his mount, falling lifelessly to the ground.
On a distant hillside, Ria stood motionless, her expression serene, as if the death of an enemy was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
The half-elf wore light armor, her pale golden hair tied back sharply, giving her a lean, efficient look.
“Seventy-eighth,” she whispered. Then, without haste, she drew another arrow from her quiver and raised her Silver Longbow, aiming casually at the next target.
“Ssshhhh—”
Another silver glint sliced the air. Precise. Perfect. The arrow struck the Ogre’s brow, sending him into the endless mudshak realm of Gwush.
“Chief! It’s an Elf archer! Only one—she’s already killed so many of our brothers!”
“Damn it!”
“Cowards! You’re worse than goblins! How can you be scared of a single Elf? We have over a hundred here—she’ll be chopped into meat paste!”
The Ogre chieftain snarled, blowing a bone whistle to summon his subordinates. The plan was clear: surround and kill the Elf.
But before the order was fully executed—another crack rang out.
The scout who had spoken fell from his Dire Wolf, tumbling across the grass, lifeless.
“Watch out! Her aim is deadly!”
“Follow me! Flank her from all sides! Kill her! Sacrifice her pointed ears to Father God!”
The Wolf Cavalry moved with practiced coordination, thirty riders closing in from every direction.
“Die, pointy ears!”
“Ogres will reclaim everything!”
They roared, their voices a chaotic storm, raising spears high.
“Hmph. So you’ve come to me,” Ria said, utterly unafraid. Her face remained cold, even flickering with a hint of mockery. Slowly, she lowered her bow, drew her silver sword from her side.
Her eyes gleamed with purpose. As a Revenge Holy Knight, she could see the sins clinging to the Ogres—how they had burned, slaughtered, and pillaged a peaceful Dwarf village for nothing more than bread.
To the Ogres, they might be heroes—rescuers of their people, bringers of food to starving women and hungry children.
But to Ria… they were monsters. Unforgivable.
She locked her gaze. With a smooth motion, she crossed her sword before her chest and whispered the vow of her past:
“No mercy for evildoers.”
“Swish—”
A flash of silver erupted from her body, a ring of light expanding outward in a violent, radiant wave—its hue like the last glow of a dying sun, like a storm given form.
Everything in its path—grass, trees, Ogres, Dire Wolves, even the dust in the air—was cleanly severed in two.
Blood sprayed into the sky. Limbs flew in every direction. The once-green plain turned crimson, stained with gore.
“It’s her! It’s definitely her!”
“Run! Run! She’s Ria—the Ogre Butcher!”
The chieftain trembled violently, his spear hand shaking so hard he nearly dropped it. His Dire Wolf whimpered, tail tucked between its legs.
Hearing the name “Ogre Butcher,” every single Ogre in the group screamed and turned, fleeing in panic, racing away in every direction.
“Go!”
“Don’t look back!”
“Damn it—what bad luck to meet her!”
For months, this half-elf Holy Knight had roamed the Ugo Grassland, killing over a thousand Ogre warriors. The very name “Ria” sent shivers through their ranks. In desperation, the chieftain had even established a rule: If you meet Ria, you may escape.
Ria sneered, already preparing to pursue.
Then—distant, overlapping howls and booming rumbles echoed across the sky.
The chieftain’s face drained of color. His body shook uncontrollably. Even his Dire Wolf whimpered in fear.
“That sound…” he whispered, voice trembling. “That’s… Golden Death.”
The Ogres knew that name. A forbidden word. To hear it meant the end was inevitable. Their life force was already fading.
He raised his head, eyes wide with despair.
Above, a golden figure descended from the heavens—growing larger in his vision, blotting out the sun, swallowing him whole.
“Boom!”
A wave of intense heat engulfed him. He looked down—and saw his own body burning, melting like wax.
That was the last thing he ever saw.
The Dragon known as Golden Death swept over the plain, diving low. With a torrent of scorching flame, it reduced every remaining Ogre to ash.
The Ancient Gold Dragon circled the sky once, then roared—a sound rich with majesty. The earth trembled slightly as it landed on the slope.
“Good morning, Lord Titus. You’re still as powerful as ever,” Ria said, lowering her sword and bowing slightly, her tone cool but respectful.
The massive Gold Dragon folded its wings, its pale golden vertical pupils fixed on the half-elf. It gave a small nod.
“Good morning, Lady Ria. You’ve made quite a name for yourself across the Ugo Grassland.”
Ria replied calmly:
“Lord Titus, compared to your contributions, my deeds are mere trinkets. I’m only doing what I can—eradicating evil. Honestly, without your help, we might not have taken down that chieftain.”
The Gold Dragon stepped forward with elegant, light steps, smiling.
“Ria, don’t be so formal. We’ve fought side by side for years.”
She smiled back, nodding.
“I must admit… it’s an honor to stand beside an existence like you, Ancient Gold Dragon. And to count you as a friend.”
Titus turned toward the horizon, as if pondering something deeper.
“Ria… when this matter with the Ogres is settled… where will you go?”
“Back to Serrynia, of course. Queen Catherine… she’s still waiting for me.”
“You plan to launch a coup? Help her reclaim her throne?”
Ria didn’t deny it. She spoke with open honesty:
“The Senate’s decay has lasted too long. It’s rotten to the core—clinging to Human nobles, sucking the life from the Sacred Tree like leeches. Only an Elven Queen can rebuild Serrynia’s order, restore our dignity, and lead us toward a brighter future.”
Titus turned to face her, his gaze earnest.
“Ria… if you need help, I am willing to lend my hand. The world needs more rulers who walk the Path of Justice. Like Queen Catherine.”
Ria raised her head, her voice firm and sincere:
“Lord Titus… I speak on behalf of Queen Catherine—and the tens of thousands of Elven people of Serrynia. We extend our deepest gratitude.”
“Awooo—”
A familiar, sharp Dragon Roar rang out from afar.
Titus looked up. A slender, youthful Gold Dragon descended with graceful elegance—none other than Orola, the young female Gold Dragon of the Eternal Order Realm.
She landed in a flurry, panting, her voice urgent:
“Titus Elder! Titus Elder! The Golden Dragon Council is about to begin. The old division sent me to fetch you—this time, you cannot miss it!”
Seeing the two Gold Dragons discussing clan affairs, Ria stepped back.
“Lord Titus, if you have matters to attend to, I’ll take my leave. I won’t intrude.”
“Very well.”
As the half-elf walked away, Titus—no, Kai Xiusu—watched the young Gold Dragon approach, his pale golden eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
“Golden Dragon Council…”
He whispered, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
The flicker in his pupils was unmistakable—playful, knowing.
(End of Chapter)
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