Chapter 617: The Prelude to War
Collins City. The largest metropolis in the Northern Aether Plain, nestled at the boundary zone where the Ivo River and Mason River converge. With its smooth, fertile lands and the two mighty rivers serving as natural fortifications, the city’s geography made it nearly impregnable to invasion—ideal terrain for defense and dominance. Centuries ago, it had been the capital of the Aetherian Kingdom. After Aragon I led the past Fadalan Kingdom to conquer the Northern Aether, he had transformed Collins City into the heart of northern power—its political, economic, and strategic stronghold. Even today, at the city’s center, stands the copper statue of Aragon I, the legendary emperor, sword pointed northward, eyes sharp and piercing, as if still locked in the act of conquest.
In the distance, the sun rose slowly above the horizon, painting the sky in golden hues. Morning light spilled across the earth, gilding the towering spires of Collins City.
“Lord Duke,” the Root said, voice urgent, “according to our latest intelligence, Berg City has also fallen.”
“I know,” Walter replied, voice calm. “Leave me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
At the summit of the City Tower, a Divine Offspring Angel clad in armor and wielding a longsword gazed into the distance, his expression solemn and resolute. A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “I never thought this day would come so soon. Nineteen days. In just nineteen days, the entire Northern Aether has fallen. I underestimated their military might.”
“Do not despair, Duke Walter,” came a voice—strong, unwavering, and serene. A middle-aged man, mid-forties, stepped forward. He wore a flowing golden robe, his beard neatly trimmed, and his deep, pale golden eyes radiating both arrogance and unwavering integrity.
This was Titus—the “Dawn Dragon,” the leader of the “Wings of Dawn,” and the Golden Dragon Council’s appointed relief force. Walter’s most trusted ally.
Titus adjusted his beard and continued. “Justice will prevail. The brutal will perish. This is the inevitable course of history. No force can alter it.”
Walter nodded. “Your wisdom and compassion are truly admirable, Lord Titus.”
He looked back toward the smoky horizon, his brow furrowed. “Still… I cannot help but worry about the Red Dragon. By Amanata’s grace, a hundred-meter-long beast. In all my centuries, I have never seen a dragon reach such monstrous proportions.”
The thought of the unseen foe stirred an involuntary prayer within him.
Turning to Titus, Walter whispered, “We are of the same blood. You must know what this means.”
“Duke,” Titus replied, “we are in the Third Era. After the惨烈 Dragonfall War, dragons exceeding a hundred meters in length are nearly impossible in the Material Realm.”
“So you believe the Emperor of the Ashen Flame never truly achieved that size?”
Walter asked, then shook his head with a wry smile. “Regardless of whether the beast is truly a hundred meters or not, the power he displays is beyond anything I, a fallen Divine Offspring, could withstand. Even in my prime—when the Sun God’s light still blessed me—I would have been no match. And now? My empire is gone.”
As the most steadfast “Fadalanist,” Walter had lived like a penitent, chasing the glory of the old Empire. Yet, he knew better than anyone the truth: after the old Emperor’s death, the empire was already dead—its corpse rotting from within, its heirs warring for scraps.
Driven to despair by the infighting, Walter had risen in rebellion, leading the Thrace Kingdom in defiance.
Titus nodded solemnly. “Indeed. But even so, the Red Dragon is powerful, brutal—yet Tiamat, Karex, were far greater. Where are those ancient evils now? Aphonus, Howling Void, Shadowmire Abyss—once they towered like mountains, yet they were cast into the depths of sin. Their doom was sealed.”
He stepped forward, gazing down at the earth, then raised his hand, pointing to the broad, rushing river below.
“Just as the Ivo River flows inevitably toward the sea—unstoppable, unblockable—so too will tyrants, cruel rulers, be cast into the darkness, where they belong, forever lost.”
He paused. His voice deepened, resonating with power. Light shimmered across his form, and his words thundered like the storm.
“You are not alone!”
In an instant, the middle-aged noble vanished—replaced by a towering, majestic Gold Dragon.
The transformation drew every eye.
The beast’s body was a living mountain, its scales molten gold, gleaming under the dawn’s light. Intricate, ancient carvings adorned its hide—symbols of wisdom and strength—like a living suit of divine armor. Its eyes blazed like twin suns, filled with wisdom and unyielding power. As its massive wings stirred, the air cracked with thunderous booms. The wind roared, distorted by the sheer force of its presence.
Titus, in his true Ancient Gold Dragon form, loomed over the bewildered Divine Offspring Duke, his voice like a decree from heaven.
“Every realm—sky, earth, sea—every soul that upholds justice and righteousness will stand with you. Rise, Duke Walter! Rebel against the Dragon Tyranny!”
Walter looked up at the golden titan, his expression moved. Then, he lowered his gaze, turning his vision to the vast army before him.
Beneath the glow of dawn, the city walls stood tall and unyielding. Banners flew. On the open ground before the walls, an unprecedented, magnificent allied force had gathered.
Thousands of Northern Aether soldiers stood in perfect formation—men and women clad in polished steel armor, weapons gleaming with cold light. Longswords and shields held firm, eyes burning with fervor, ranks as dense as iron. These were elite warriors, recalled from every corner of the realm—many supernaturally gifted, veterans who had fought beside Walter through fire and famine, who still believed in his promise to restore the Sacred Fedran.
Behind them, mages stood in robes of arcane power, staffs raised, their bodies wreathed in shimmering runes. Some meditated, others whispered incantations. The air crackled with magical energy, sparks flickering at their fingertips. These were remnants of the past Fadalan Arcane Legion, reinforcements from the City of All Arts, and righteous scholars from the Arcane Hermitage.
Above, nine Divine Offspring Angels soared, their flame-tipped swords blazing, wings beating with precision. Among them stood three legendary-level warriors—figures of divine might.
But the sky above Collins City was not only filled with Fadalan angels.
Real celestial beings had arrived.
A celestial hymn echoed through the heavens—pure, ethereal, and endless. Figures emerged from the ripples in space, rising from the clouds, their forms becoming clearer.
Justiciars, Legionaries, Horn Messengers, Chanting Angels—the Silver Heaven Legion stood in perfect formation. Their wings were as white as fresh clouds, their movements gentle, radiating a sacred, calming light.
Heavenly Horses, Cloud Giants, Heavenly Demons, and Heavenly Eagles—benevolent creatures from the Mountains of Heaven—also descended from the sky, joining the celestial ranks.
Then, from the front of the legion, a towering silver figure emerged, bathed in stellar radiance.
He bore a sword crackling with lightning, a shining silver horn at his side, and wore a smooth, violet robe dusted with starlight. His massive wings, covered in white feathers, gave him an air of grace and majesty. His dark purple eyes looked down upon the earth with sorrowful compassion, glowing with divine presence.
A voice—calm, dignified, and eternal—rang across the land.
“Walter. I have come, as emissary of the Will of Heaven’s Mountain, to bring aid to the Northern Aether.”
The moment he appeared, a wave of serene, orderly light spread across the sky. All present felt an overwhelming peace, as if their inner filth, their sins, had been washed clean.
Everyone held their breath. All looked up.
Behind the silver figure, the eternal night sky unfolded—studded with stars, bathed in silver moonlight. The projection of Silver Heaven Luniya, the celestial realm itself.
Walter’s face lit up. His confidence deepened. He knew what this meant.
The Sovereign of Silver Heaven Luniya—the Guardian of the Messenger Barachiel—had descended into the Material Realm.
Walter swiftly unfurled his wings and soared upward, bowing deeply. “Good morning, Your Highness. The entire Northern Aether has been waiting for your arrival.”
Titus followed, rising above the clouds. Even the arrogant Gold Dragon lowered his head, bowing before the silver deity.
Barachiel nodded in acknowledgment. Then, he removed the shining silver horn from his waist and blew.
Instantly, every celestial horn in the legion sounded. The Harp Angels began to sing, their voices weaving a hymn of celestial power.
“Woo—”
The blast echoed across the heavens—like the battle hymn of heaven itself. A surge of courage and fire surged through every heart.
A faint, silvery glow shimmered across the bodies of warriors—like starlight. Their minds cleared, their thoughts sharpened, their bodies feeling lighter, stronger.
This was no mere war chant to numb fear. The Hymn of Heaven awakened the deepest dreams, the noblest visions within each soul—urging them to fight not for glory, but for the very essence of justice.
Walter closed his eyes.
In his mind, the Holy City rose—majestic, radiant. The Eternal Sun God’s Tower pierced the clouds. Sunlight bathed the earth. The people of Fadalan smiled, confident, hopeful.
He was back in that glorious era—the Ascension Rite that had shaped his destiny.
Silence returned.
Walter opened his eyes.
Before him stood an army beyond imagination—divine, mortal, half-elf, angel, heavenly horse, cloud giant—countless beings of justice, united. Their races differed, but their strength was undeniable. At least a dozen legendary warriors stood among them.
Such an army, in any corner of the Feiansuo Continent, would be a force to reckon with. Even the Three Great Kingdoms would hesitate to face it.
In the past months, Walter had exhausted every connection, crossed realms, even humbled himself—just to summon this host.
“I will win,” he said, gripping his longsword. “I will lead this allied force to drive the Red Dragon from Aether. I will reclaim the sacred soil of the fallen Fedran Empire.”
His pale golden eyes blazed with unwavering resolve.
“I will not lose. I cannot.”
He spread his wings and flew to the front of the army, raising his sword—its blade blazing with golden flame. All eyes turned to him.
“Today, I feel more than the weight of war. I feel a resolve, a strength I’ve never known. Every breath of air here is a vow. Every heart beats for the same purpose. We will defend our homeland. We will protect our will. We will not let this earth fall beneath the shadow of an evil dragon!”
His voice thundered, fierce and clear—like war drums beating in the soul.
“This is not just a war. It is our vow. Our will. Our unyielding determination. Today, the evil dragon will see our swords, our shields, our eyes burning with fury and light!”
“Justice and righteousness will triumph. The arrogance of the Red Dragon will be reduced to ash before our might!”
“Justice will prevail!” the soldiers roared, raising their weapons. The Gold Dragon unleashed a long, echoing roar. Even the angels wore expressions of battle fury.
But Walter did not know—his enemy, the one he hated most, was now standing among his own allied forces, shouting cheers with the rest.
The noise faded.
The allied forces of Collins City resumed their tense preparations for war.
Walter and his two most powerful allies entered a hidden chamber, to discuss strategy against the Red Dragon.
The cold wind howled. Dawn’s light bathed the sky. The golden banner of Sacred Fedran flapped proudly atop the city walls. The air was heavy with solemnity—like the entire world was holding its breath.
All knew it now.
This war was inevitable.
In just nineteen days, the Northern Aether had fallen. Collins City was their last bastion.
This was the final battle.
The fate of the Northern Aether—and indeed, the entire Feiansuo Continent—hung in the balance.
(End of Chapter)
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