Chapter 636: The Ogres' Arrival
By the time Treasure Vault was left behind, the hour had already crept past three or four in the morning. The Ancient Gold Dragon and the King of the Dwarves returned together to the Royal Palace, chatting idly along the way—both sharing an unspoken默契, neither daring to bring up the fateful agreement that hung between them.
Inside the Royal Palace, Young Golden Dragon Orola had been waiting for a long while. The dwarves, whose drinking stamina was legendary, staggered groggily to their feet in small groups, though their minds still swam in a haze of alcohol.
Then, amid the dwarves’ reluctant farewells, their rough, hearty songs, and thunderous shouts of encouragement, the two Golden Dragons suddenly flared their wings, launching into the sky with a mighty gust that sent dust spiraling into the air.
On the broad rooftop of the palace, the King of the Dwarves stood with his head tilted upward, gazing long into the distance, his expression slowly hardening into solemnity.
Dawn broke across the horizon. The first light of morning painted the edges of Blackstone Mountain in gold, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the massive form of the Golden Dragon, as if it were dissolving into the sky itself.
Seeing this sight, the dwarves on the rooftop erupted into even greater excitement. Cheers rang out—“Wings of Dawn!” “Dragon of Dawn!”—shouting that echoed long into the morning air.
“Your Majesty,” came a familiar voice. Dwarf minister Biyao, leaning heavily on his cane, shuffled slowly onto the terrace and stood behind Aid.
After the Battle of Black Stone Mountain, the once-hale dwarf, now over three hundred years old, had aged drastically. Wrinkles creased his face like fissures in the mountain’s stone, his frame bent, his steps unsteady. Aid could see it clearly—the old minister’s internal Furnace Flame, like his own, was nearly extinguished, the lamp nearly empty.
Staring at the empty sky where the Golden Dragon had vanished, the King sighed softly. “Can we truly trust such an ally—someone we’ve known for barely a few months? Even if he is a just and noble Golden Dragon?”
“Your Majesty,” Biyao replied in a low, gravelly voice, his wrinkles deepening as if carved by time itself, “this is our only choice. We are cornered. After weighing all options, Titus is the best we can hope for.”
Aid unslung his War Hammer, gripping it tightly in his hands, his eyes fixed on the dwarf runes etched into its head. He gave a wry shake of his head. “Biyao, I don’t know if this decision was right. But handing our people’s future over to another… it feels wrong.”
Biyao lifted his head with effort, offering comfort. “Your Majesty, our goal has been achieved. With the protection of an Ancient Gold Dragon—renowned for his Good Alignment—our children will not suffer too harshly. Yes, it stings to admit it, but this is the last hope for the Shield Dwarves. And truth be told… we’re already nearing the end.”
Aid let out a self-deprecating chuckle, tightening his grip on the hammer’s shaft as if he wished to drive it into his flesh. “You’re right. We’re all dying men. Why worry so much? As for our people’s future… we’ll leave it in the hands of the children who’ll grow beneath the wings of the Golden Dragon.”
At that moment, the sun had fully risen. Morning light spilled across the terrace of Aivendeldan Palace, glinting off the rugged, weathered faces of the two dwarves.
---
In the heart of the Northern Aether Plain, within a spacious cave serving as the temporary imperial residence of the Emperor of the Ashen Flame, the Red Dragon lay sprawled lazily on the ground, greedily siphoning the Sun God’s power from within his body. A stream of scorching white smoke, laced with ember sparks, curled from his nostrils.
Then, slowly, he lifted his massive head, peering westward—the direction of the High Mountain Kingdom.
“Eye of Ghush,” Kai Xiusu grinned, his fangs bared, smoke billowing from between them like a furnace’s breath.
The Battle of Black Stone Mountain had been nothing more than a side move for him—a way to elevate the fame of his persona, “Titus,” securing a place for himself among the ranks of the so-called “good-aligned” forces.
But this time, he’d discovered something extraordinary—the Eye of Ghush. Even he hadn’t expected such a stroke of fortune.
And yet, what a prize it was. This was a fragment of a Powerful Divine Being’s body! Even in the current weakened state of the Ogres, Ghush was still a Divine Power of considerable stature. The artifact’s value was incalculable. The complete “Eye of Ghush” might even surpass the worth of the “Heart of Karex” in Kai Xiusu’s possession.
Moreover, as one of the symbols of the “One-Eyed God” Ghush, this eye likely contained the essence of Chaos, Evil, Strength, War—domains that resonated deeply with Kai Xiusu. If he could fully consume its divine remnants… the Red Dragon might ascend to true Semi-Godhood. Though the lingering willpower within the eye might pose a challenge.
“Divinity,” Kai Xiusu murmured, his pale golden vertical pupils glowing faintly with hunger, a flicker of flame dancing within them. His mouth began to drool, the saliva thick and hot, like molten magma.
Suddenly, the communication device within the cave chimed. Kai Xiusu activated it, and a magical image materialized before him—ugly, scaled face, fangs bared, a grotesque visage: the Dragonline Ogre, Lanpu.
Northern Aether was one of the wealthiest plains in Thrace, spanning an area of seven hundred thousand square kilometers—nearly a fifth of the Ember Empire’s homeland. To absorb such a vast conquest zone was no small task, even for the Empire at its peak.
Rebellions here were fiercer, more entrenched, and often led by supernatural beings. The customs, lifestyles, and culture of the Aethel people differed vastly from those of the isolated Anzeta folk—conflict was inevitable.
As Prime Minister of the Ashen Empire, Lanpu had been overwhelmed lately, splitting himself into six simulacra just to manage the workload. His threads of command were more numerous than his master’s.
Unlike Kai Xiusu, who spent his days lazing in his cave, eating and drinking while playing the hands-off emperor, Lanpu worked tirelessly, never resting, embodying the Empire’s “007” work ethic to the extreme.
When tired, he downed a high-grade Energy Potion and respawned instantly, full health. When hungry, he devoured a bucket of tasteless Instant Organic Paste, sustaining himself for days.
As an exceptionally intelligent mage, the ogre had suppressed his natural gluttony, transforming himself into a relentless workaholic.
“Good morning, my most honored Master,” Lanpu’s image bowed deeply, then launched straight into his report—no wasted seconds.
“A group of Ogres has arrived at Dragonhead City. They claim to be envoys from the Crimson Blood Tribe, hailing from the Ugo Great Plain in the east. They wish to seek an audience with you.”
“Oh?” Kai Xiusu raised an eyebrow, his head tilting with interest. “Well, well… speak of the devil, and he appears. So the Ogres have come, too.”
He glanced at the ogre image. “Lanpu, what’s your take?”
Lanpu bowed again, responding without delay. “Master, our intelligence confirms that the Crimson Blood Tribe gathered nearly two hundred thousand troops months ago and launched a full-scale invasion of the High Mountain Dwarf Kingdom. The Gold Dragon and Elven forces joined the defense. The tribe suffered catastrophic losses and fled north in disarray. Their chieftain—supposedly blessed by the Orcish deity—was killed in battle.
Now, their visit to the Ashen Empire is clearly an attempt to forge an alliance, seeking revenge against the High Mountain Dwarves. Blackstone Mountain is rich in resources, with abundant mineral veins. It’s a center for dwarf artisans—undoubtedly a prime target for conquest.
But… the Empire now has the strength to conquer the High Mountain Kingdom alone. There’s no need to involve the Crimson Blood Tribe. Worse, allying with a faction so aligned with Chaos and Evil goes against the Empire’s principles.”
Lanpu spoke without restraint, his disdain for the Crimson Blood Tribe evident. He had clearly rehearsed this speech.
Kai Xiusu gave a slight nod. He was satisfied.
His own thoughts mirrored Lanpu’s. The Ashen Empire had no need to bring the Ogres into the game. The Green-Skinned brutes were nothing more than bloodthirsty madmen—just like their Father God.
Kai Xiusu had no intention of allowing a powerful Divine Power-level deity into his domain—what if the god discovered he’d stolen its eye?
Besides, the Empire already had Titus, the Dwarf’s “faithful ally,” as an inside agent, giving them complete intelligence on the High Mountain Kingdom. No need to fear failure.
Observing Kai Xiusu’s expression, Lanpu pressed on: “Master, should we let these Ogres pass through Northern Aether… or eliminate them all?”
Kai Xiusu shook his head, smiling once more. “No need. I may not care for Ogres as allies, but I am intrigued by them.”
“Yes, Master. I’ll dispatch men to bring them before you immediately.”
Lanpu’s tone remained calm. He didn’t ask why. He simply executed the order—after all, he was the kind of being who’d use vampires and human mages as experiments without hesitation.
---
In Dragonhead City, within the Northern Aether region, a group of Ogres wrapped in wolf pelts sat stiffly on chairs, their eyes fixed on the Serpent Woman as she completed her communication. They stood out starkly against their surroundings.
When the Serpent Folk turned, the lead Ogre sprang to his feet, voice trembling with urgency. “Has His Majesty granted us an audience?”
“Yes. Follow me,” the Serpent Woman replied, her expression unreadable.
“Wonderful! Wonderful! At last, we can avenge Batu’s death!” The Ogre’s rugged face lit up with fervor, his massive body trembling with excitement.
He was Nur Redmane—named for slaying a beast with crimson mane. A famed warrior of the Crimson Blood Tribe, and a loyalist of the fallen chieftain, Batu. Now, under the orders of the temporary chieftain Soro, he had brought the tribe’s most majestic warriors to Northern Aether, seeking alliance with the rising Ashen Empire to avenge the dwarves, elves, and that cursed Golden Dragon.
Every time he thought of that day—the cowardly siege by the so-called “just” dwarves and elves—he felt a fire of rage and bloodlust burn in his chest. How dare they lay siege to a great warrior?
From that moment, Nur had sworn an oath: one day, he would avenge Batu. He would burn Aivendeldan to the ground and personally cut off the King of the Dwarves’ head.
But reality was harsh. After the Battle of Black Stone Mountain, the dwarves’ sheep-goat cavalry, the elves’ unicorn cavalry, and that accursed Golden Dragon had swept through the Ogres with brutal efficiency.
Countless Ogres died on the fertile plains north of Blackstone Mountain. Tribes scattered. The Crimson Blood Tribe, once a mighty force, had shattered into fragments—only a few major clans remained.
It wasn’t until days ago, when Soro claimed to have been blessed by Ghush and granted immense strength, that he managed to reassemble the remnants. Though far weaker than before, they were still a force to be reckoned with.
Then came news of the Ashen Empire’s lightning strike on Northern Aether. The Ogres were stunned—and the dream of alliance with the Empire became their shared hope.
Nur clenched his fists, eyes blazing. “I will succeed. For Batu. For our fallen brothers and sisters.”
The Ashen Empire, still struggling to stabilize Northern Aether, had not yet built a full railway network. A mage skilled in teleportation spells was sent to greet the Ogres.
“During the audience with His Majesty, observe proper etiquette. Bowing is the bare minimum.”
“Haha, of course. No one dares disrespect His Majesty. But you should also be careful not to faint from his aura of intimidation.”
The mage spoke as he raised his staff, weaving the spellcraft model for the portal.
Nur frowned inwardly, puzzled—and even a little humiliated. He wasn’t like Batu, but he was no ordinary warrior. He’d faced an Ancient Gold Dragon head-on, even shot two arrows at its wings.
Was the Emperor truly so powerful? So terrifying that even he would tremble… and faint?
The Ogres had no image of the Red Dragon Emperor’s battle. They only knew that Northern Aether had been conquered by the Ashen Empire. They had no idea who “Kai Xiusu” truly was.
Whoosh—
A narrow spatial distortion split the air. The portal opened.
“Hurry up,” the mage snapped, impatient. “Enter.”
“Right.”
As Nur stepped forward, one foot crossing the threshold, his entire body jolted—hair standing on end, trembling violently.
“This… this is…”
A crushing, overwhelming pressure slammed down on him, as if a mountain had been placed on his back. He struggled to breathe. The air was scorching—like the air of Hell. Sweat beaded on his forehead, evaporating instantly into vapor.
His heart hammered in his chest. With effort, he lifted his head, staring toward the vast cave in the distance.
“Father God Gwush above…”
Only then did Nur finally understand the mage’s words. And he realized—without a doubt—that the man had not exaggerated.
(End of Chapter)
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