Chapter 646: Advance & Mobilization
After dealing with the Chaos Eye, Kai Xiusu finally used a Spell to contact Lanpu, who was now stationed thousands of miles away. To his surprise, he discovered not one, but nine different coordinates when attempting to locate him.
Another "Work Avatar" of Lanpu? Kai Xiusu’s lips twitched slightly, yet he couldn’t help but feel it was perfectly logical. After all, in recent times, besides the vast Leadership territory of the Northern Aether Conquest zone, a new quest—Mobilization Army—had emerged.
Moments later, a grotesquely unattractive face, radiating the unmistakable aura of a burned-out office drone, appeared before the Red Dragon. Beside him sat a towering stack of documents, nearly half a man’s height.
Lanpu bowed deeply, as always, his voice weak and drained.
“Good morning, my noble and mighty Master.”
Seeing the Dragonline Ogre look utterly exhausted—like a being drained of all life—Kai Xiusu couldn’t help but worry. What if the man suddenly dropped dead one day? He spoke gently, offering reassurance:
“Lanpu, you’ve worked hard these past few months. With the Empire just entering Feanso, the sheer volume of economic, policy, social governance, intelligence, and diplomatic matters is overwhelming. Once we settle into a stable, routine mode, things will ease up.”
This concern wasn’t merely kindness—it stemmed from the Dragon’s instinctive protection of his own property. If Lanpu vanished, who else could manage such a colossal empire with the same unwavering loyalty and tireless dedication?
Under Kai Xiusu’s warm, paternal tone, Lanpu’s eyes welled up. His face, already horrifying in its own right, now seemed even more grotesque with emotion.
Indeed, no matter how heartfelt the gesture, ugliness only deepened with expression. Fortunately, Kai Xiusu had long since built up immunity to such visual assaults—after enduring the likes of the Fungal Lady and the Chaos Eye, whose very appearance was a weapon.
The Ogre’s gaze then hardened once more. He slowly shook his head.
“Master, this is my duty. It is my responsibility as Imperial Prime Minister. I should be grateful for the privilege of serving you.”
His voice trembled with sudden excitement, his throat vibrating.
“For the Empire’s Great Blueprint—Conquest of the World… no, Conquest of the Multiverse—I am willing to give everything… even my very Life Force!”
Watching his follower so quickly transform from exhaustion to fervent zeal, Kai Xiusu nodded approvingly. He couldn’t help but think: This Ogre is truly born for the role of Ox and Horse.
Then, Kai Xiusu asked:
“How stands the status of the Imperial Army? When can they arrive at Aivendeldan?”
Lanpu replied with confidence:
“Three days. Only three days. The war hasn’t even cooled down yet. Our main forces are still stationed in the Northern Aether, so mobilization is smooth. Intelligence reports indicate that the High Mountain Dwarf Kingdom has just suffered heavy losses from war—internally weakened, and with no strong leadership. Not to mention, we have your detailed blueprints of Aivendeldan. These dwarves are no match for us.”
After a brief discussion, the Imperial Senate decided to send only one-third of the forces to Aivendeldan, leaving the rest garrisoned across the Northern Aether. This would prevent chaos in the Conquest zones.
Kai Xiusu casually inquired:
“Who will lead the campaign?”
“Marshal Drool,” Lanpu answered flatly. “Marshal Dolo wanted to take command personally, but the Senate rejected his request. He still has duties managing the Northern Aether theater.”
“Not bad,” the Red Dragon murmured, nodding slightly. He exhaled a plume of sulfur-scented white smoke and stretched his wings.
Drool—Imperial Marquis, Dragonblood Goblin, Dolo’s loyalist, and a key figure in the Empire’s Military Faction—was a name Kai Xiusu knew well.
Lanpu then pulled a single document from the towering pile, removed its Seal with a Spell, and opened it, reciting:
“Special Military Operation: The Empire will deploy 60,000 infantry, 154 steam tanks, 464 two-headed dragons, and 8,500 personnel from the Engineering Corps and后勤 units. Additionally, we’ve issued the War Decree, summoning the Stellarfallers from the Northern Aether. We expect over 50,000 reinforcements.”
Hearing the sheer scale of the deployment, Kai Xiusu felt a quiet awe. Though the Empire hadn’t gone all-out, the force now arrayed was already a crushing, overwhelming weight against the current High Mountain Dwarf Kingdom.
As a “stalwart ally” and “eternal friend” of the Shield Dwarves, Kai Xiusu knew the situation inside and out. After Zeror led the old, weak, and women away in exile, Aivendeldan was left with fewer than 30,000 dwarves—less than half the number of troops the Empire was sending. Even at their peak, the dwarf population had never matched the size of this army.
And their famed fine weapons? Against the Empire’s Steel Tide, they were meaningless.
In every aspect—numbers, quality, gear, firepower—this was a one-sided dominance.
The only real threat was the High Mountain Dwarf Kingdom’s Elite Forces: the legendary warrior Aid, known as the “Mountain Lord.”
Lanpu addressed this immediately:
“Based on your intelligence and our own findings, Ghuush has recently launched an attack on the Dwarven Pantheon. The gods are likely preoccupied with the spiritual plane, unable to intervene in the Material Realm. Still, Aid Klein—nearly a semi-god among dwarves—remains a formidable threat. Therefore, Misha will accompany the army, ready to prepare for intervention at any moment to suppress the elite forces.”
He paused, then added:
“And if the Dwarven Deities themselves descend, Misha—your Oath Sorcerer—can call upon you to descend into Aivendeldan. Ensuring victory is absolute.”
“Excellent planning,” Kai Xiusu said, nodding. “Proceed. My last hope is that you secure Aivendeldan swiftly, then launch a full offensive into the Ugo Grasslands. Complete the Total Destruction of the Crimson Blood Tribe.”
He gave another approving nod, then used his massive forelimbs to push himself upright, smiling.
“But… now, I almost wish the Dwarven gods would descend.”
To travel from the Northern Aether into the Eastern Northern Regions, one had to follow the Cotney River upstream through a wide, long valley—known as the “Metal Road.”
Merchants once bought ore, precious metals, and fine weapons from the dwarves, then floated them downstream to trade in the fallen Faldran Empire.
Now, the “Metal Road” had become a temporary military transit route for the Empire of Ashen.
The ground trembled. Mountains roared. The river shook. Thick smoke choked the valley, and birds scattered in panic from the mountains.
The Empire’s steam tanks advanced like a migrating beast herd at the front, their engines growling like beasts. Everything in their path was crushed without mercy.
Wyverns slashed through the sky, flapping their wings wildly, their cries hoarse and ragged—like a dark, swirling regiment of clouds casting jagged shadows across the earth.
At the heart of the dragon horde, the Wyvern Chieftain Smaug spread his broad dragon wings, his aura blazing as he roared a command to the entire dragon army.
“ROOOOAR!”
The sheer dragon威 radiated outward, scattering beasts and birds alike in terror.
Now, after multiple blessings of Dragon Blood, Smaug’s body had grown to twenty-five meters in length—on par with a mature or even aged Red Dragon. Under the transformation of Ancestral Dragon Blood, his body was covered in hardened crimson scales, nearly indistinguishable from a true Red Dragon. Only his bipedal form gave him away—enough to fool even a Dragon Scholar, if one didn’t look too closely.
Kai Xiusu, driven by a certain mischievous whimsy, had specifically insisted on sending Smaug to lead this war.
Dwarf, Lonely Mountain, Gold Treasure, Smaug—this was the composition Kai Xiusu knew and cherished.
Behind the Tank Corps and Dragonfly Legion marched the Imperial Infantry—elite soldiers fresh from the battlefield. Their weapons were top-tier, and their combat spirit burned fiercely.
Two in every ten soldiers bore partial Dragon Bloodline. Their skin often bore scattered scales, their Life Force and battle lust far surpassing ordinary beings.
At the rear came the Empire’s Logistics Force and Engineering Corps—massive steam locomotives loaded with ammunition and war rations, and engineering vehicles hauling iron bridges. Even their presence alone exuded an oppressive pressure.
The Empire’s army advanced with thunderous, unrestrained force—loud, bold, and utterly unashamed of their presence. The noise alone caused nearby powers to panic.
No one dared block their path—no matter how brave, no matter how willing to sacrifice. Even the Lute Players’ Alliance, famed for their daring, could only sneak through the surrounding forests, gathering intelligence in silence.
The Imperial Military Department’s Staff Officers had planned with precision. Exactly three days. Not a second more, not a second less. The terrifying force arrived at Gaven Basin, just south of Blackstone Mountain.
Now, the soldiers could already see the distant, massive fortress—Aivendeldan—built into the mountainside.
Empire banners flapped fiercely in the sky. Imperial soldiers gathered in formation, singing the Song of Kai Xiusu and the Song of Triumph, their voices echoing across the plains, thundering into the heavens.
Above, hundreds of wyverns circled endlessly, heads raised, roaring in unison—creating a towering, awe-inspiring aura.
Giant Ogre Marshal Drool stood atop the Emperor’s Wrath tank, vigorous and confident, surveying his army.
Even he hadn’t expected this opportunity. Leading a war of such magnitude—this should have been Marshal Dolo’s privilege.
Drool had once been just a common Great Goblin chieftain. He’d followed Dolo since the latter was still a Dwarf Goliath warlord. Soon after, he joined the Ashen Hollow, rising with every conquest.
Now, he was an Imperial Marquis, a General of the Imperial Army, and the second-in-command of the Military Faction. Only the Supreme Emperor and the three Dukes stood above him—this Great Goblin had reached the pinnacle.
But now… a new chance had arrived.
When the Senate announced his appointment, Drool’s heart pounded, his entire body trembling. Even in the heat of battle, when death had nearly claimed him, he’d never felt such tension.
Because this was the final step—his ascension from General to Marshal, from Marquis to Duke.
Though Dolo’s expression was dark, Drool seized the Scepter—the symbol of Imperial military command—from Lanpu’s hands.
Looking up at the sky, the Great Goblin General seemed to see once again the towering, majestic form of the Red Dragon.
This battle wasn’t just about victory. It was about proving himself. He would show the Emperor his worth. He would earn the Red Dragon’s bestowal.
Fists clenched, his knuckles showing crimson scales beneath the skin.
Then, Drool lowered his head, surveyed the troops, and slowly opened his mouth. His voice, amplified by magic, carried to tens of thousands:
“Soldiers! Children of the Emperor of the Ashen Flame! Today, we gather here under the Emperor’s supreme decree—to fight for our shared purpose: the Great Blueprint of the Empire!”
A wave of attention swept over the ranks. Drool relished the gaze of admiration and respect.
Drawing his golden sword, its blade gleaming coldly, he pointed it toward the distant dwarf fortress.
“That fortress—Aivendeldan—is our next objective! Known as the ‘City That Never Falls,’ it has resisted countless invasions for millennia—by Orc tribes, by empires, by all. Yet it has never fallen.”
He paused, his voice rising with fire.
“But we are different! Look at your bodies—marked with scales! Look at your gear! We are the Army of the Empire of Ashen! We are the children of the Great Red Dragon! Let our steel and artillery fire make the dwarves feel the Emperor’s will—let them know the price of stubborn resistance!”
With a final, soul-shattering roar, he raised his sword high:
“Long Live the Empire of Ashen! Long Live the Great Red Dragon!”
“Long Live the Empire of Ashen!”
“Long Live the Emperor!”
Cannons roared. Flying dragons shrieked. The ground trembled.
Every Imperial soldier’s face shone with pride and glory. They waved their weapons wildly, shouting in frenzied, thunderous unison.
The sound echoed across Gaven Basin, reverberated through the Blackstone Mountains, and even made the dwarves inside Aivendeldan tremble.
On the highest balcony of the Dwarven Royal Palace, Aid turned sharply, his expression now grim—yet laced with a flicker of anticipation.
He reached out, gripping the heavy metal war hammer in his hand.
“Finally… the Empire of Ashen has come. Let me see… just what kind of power this lightning-fast conquest of the Northern Aether truly holds.”
(End of Chapter)
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