https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-698-Isengard-Blitzkrieg-Operation/13677576/
Chapter 699: Termination in Chaos
“Crimson Scale Conqueror, obey! Dragon Roar Charge—Annihilation!”
Hundreds of knights clad in shimmering Light Armor, wielding sharp Long Spears, rode forth from the Portal atop Two-Headed Dragons, pouring out like a surging tide. Under their command, the Wyverns opened their massive, blood-filled maws in unison, unleashing a thunderous roar that resonated through the air, emitting a terrifying aura of draconic might.
"Roar—!"
In an instant, a colossal Phantom of the Red Dragon materialized behind the Crimson Scale Conquerors, its vast wings unfurling as it surged forward, trailing scorching heat, barreling straight toward the dozen Angel Divine Offspring.
“What… what is that?”
“Is it the legendary Emperor of the Ashen Flame?”
The Angel Divine Offspring, mid-battle with the Wyverns, turned toward the distant phantom image, their faces paled in shock.
But Hain steadied himself, then shouted, voice cutting through the panic:
“That’s just a band of mortals riding Wyverns! They merely carry the bloodline of that evil dragon—rooted in nothing, nothing to fear!”
Yet the aura of intimidation swept across the sky like a storm. For a fleeting moment, every soul felt the Emperor himself standing before them, crushing them and their comrades beneath his heel, a chilling dread seeping from their hearts into their very spiritual core.
“No—wake up! That’s not real!”
Hain snapped back to clarity, his eyes wide with anxiety as he stared at the rapidly approaching Crimson Scale Conquerors. But his comrades remained trapped in their terror-stricken visions, frozen in place.
Seeing no choice, Hain flared his wings and broke away from the battlefield, leaving his comrades behind, dazed and lost.
And in that brief lapse—just enough time—was all the Crimson Scale Conquerors needed. It was their specialty.
Leveraging the momentum of the Two-Headed Dragon Dive, they raised their Long Spears, their blades etched with a rune array of disintegration, and thrust forward in perfect unison. With brutal precision, the spears pierced through the chests of the Angel Divine Offspring, splattering golden Divine Blood across the earth.
Bathed in the blood of his fallen comrades, Hain’s grip on his sacred Rifle trembled. His expression twisted into wrath, his features darkening into something fearsome—his eyes blazing like two exploding suns.
He roared, flaring his wings, his entire body radiating a blinding light, thick smoke erupting from his form, warping the air around him.
“Spines—!”
A deafening, eardrum-splitting scream tore through the sky, and a beam of golden light ripped open the heavens, lancing toward the Dragon Riders.
But Alje, the Regiment Commander and Duke of Dragon Blood in the Empire, spun his head with lightning reflexes, instantly perceiving the attack.
He went all out—swinging his Longsword with furious force. Beneath him, his Dragonvein Eagle let out a piercing cry, diving in perfect coordination, amplifying his strike with devastating power.
The blade cleaved through space, and with a single, brutal blow, it shattered the sacred Rifle in midair—splintering it into pieces that scattered like glass.
“How… how is this possible?” Hain stared, stunned. That rifle had been forged from the strength bestowed by the Sun God! Mortal hands should never have been able to break it!
But he didn’t know—Alje, one of the Empire’s dozen Dukes, had grown beyond mortal limits. His body, forged with the might of a mature dragon, pulsed with power that dwarfed even legendary warriors. With his ancient Giant Eagle, long bred and trained in tandem, Alje’s aerial strength now rivaled that of a true mythic hero. His domain’s Crimson Scale Conqueror army had become a nightmare haunting the dreams of countless citizens in the North.
“Hain,” Alje’s eyes narrowed like a falcon’s, instantly recognizing the Angel Divine Offspring’s status. “Baron of the Thrace Kingdom.”
He raised his sword, the blade pointing toward the distant warrior.
“Target that garrisoned commander! Surround him—do not let him escape alive! The party that kills him shall all ascend to Noble Rank, one level higher!”
Instantly, every Crimson Scale Conqueror’s gaze locked onto Hain with ravenous hunger—like greedy dragons spotting gold coins.
Now, the Empire was rising rapidly, and competition was fierce. Ascension beyond the Baron rank was nearly impossible. To them, Hain was a flying, living feast—luscious, tempting meat that could bring them unimaginable wealth and glory.
“Kill him!”
“For the Empire!”
The Crimson Scale Conquerors moved with practiced precision, forming scattered parties, flanking from all directions, sealing off every escape route.
Hundreds of enchanted arrows tore through the sky like a storm, while massive nets unfurled in midair, weaving a deadly trap.
This was no battle. This was a hunt. A hunt for the enemy commander.
“You fools! How dare you defy me!” Hain bellowed, wings flaring violently. Golden flames erupted from his body, consuming the incoming arrows in a flash.
He shot forward at blinding speed—like a falling star, a tiny sun hurtling toward the weakest point in the Crimson Scale Conquerors’ defense.
Charred dragon corpses, broken spears, shattered armor—every obstacle in his path was reduced to ash. In an instant, he pierced through their lines, soaring toward the city.
“That boss is tough…”
“Keep chasing!”
“Hold the front! My ascension depends on you!”
Alje lifted his walkie-talkie, voice low but urgent:
“That Divine Offspring is far too powerful. Requesting fire support.”
A massive airship descended slowly from the sky, its belly extending thick barrels. Beams of lethal light shot forth, lancing into the ranks of the Angel Divine Offspring.
“Swoosh—”
The instant the beams struck, the Angel Divine Offspring’s eyes dimmed. Their movements slowed, their bodies stiffened.
Then, dozens more beams erupted—crackling, freezing, encasing their forms in a layer of frost. One by one, they plummeted from the sky, lifeless.
These were not ordinary weapons. They were precision-engineered by the Empire’s researchers—specifically designed to counter the Sun God’s power in Fadalan Divine Offspring.
After years of studying the Everfrost Horn and excavating the ruins of the Frost Giants, the Ashen Empire had mastered the crafting of “Eternal Frost Runes Power”—and now, they wielded it on the battlefield.
“Eliot!”
Hain’s heart clenched as he watched his comrade transform into a frozen block, crashing to the ground. Rage flared in his eyes—but beneath it, a flicker of panic.
These Dragon’s Claws weapons had evolved to this level? They weren’t just mass-murdering mortals… they could kill divine warriors of noble blood?
“Thud!”
A chill swept over Eliot’s back. His wings were coated in a thin layer of frost, stiffening, but the Sun God’s power within him surged back, thawing him instantly.
Furious, he turned toward the source of the attack—only to see a scene that filled him with despair.
Dozens of airships had descended, blanketing the sky like a steel cloud. A vast fleet, operating with terrifying efficiency, mowed down the Angel Divine Offspring mid-air.
The once invincible, sacred warriors—now mere prey. They darted and weaved through the crossfire, their wings torn, feathers scattered like snow, hunted and slaughtered like birds in a storm.
“By Amanata… is our era truly over?” Hain whispered, his voice hollow.
Such a fleet could not be built overnight. And the weapons… so precise, so tailored—like they were made for them.
A terrible suspicion took root in Hain’s mind:
To invade the Thrace Kingdom, the Ashen Empire must have been preparing for years.
And since the Empire’s homeland was so young… perhaps even before the fall of Fadalan—when the evil dragon still lived—it had already begun plotting the conquest of the world’s most powerful, wealthiest realm.
To plan an invasion of such a mighty empire from the very beginning… such ambition. Such greed.
Hain’s fear deepened. The Emperor of the Ashen Flame was no longer just a legend. He was real. And he was coming.
But in that moment of hesitation—just a heartbeat—the cold beams converged in the sky like a woven net, then struck Hain in a single, overwhelming blast.
A massive ice sphere, several meters wide, erupted from the sky, hurtling down toward Isengard. Hain was sealed within it, still frozen in a moment of despair.
Yet time stretched endlessly. His mind remained sharp, every motion slow, as if the world had slowed to a crawl.
“This…”
Trapped in the ice, Hain saw clearly—through the frozen prison—the battle in Isengard.
No. It wasn’t a battle. It was a massacre.
Steam Tanks fired armor-piercing rounds, punching through the iron walls with terrifying ease. The city walls cracked, split, collapsed—burying hundreds of soldiers beneath rubble.
Imperial infantry advanced swiftly beside the Steam Tanks and giant mechs, their rifles spitting continuous streams of flame. Bullets fell like rain, shredding Thrace soldiers to ribbons. Any head that dared peek above the wall was instantly turned into a sieve—brains splattered across the ground.
Hulking humanoid machines marched across the earth, shaking the ground with every step. From their backs, dozens of missiles launched, exploding in the densest crowds—reducing dozens to charcoal.
Desperate, the Thrace defenders opened hidden doors in the city walls, revealing decades-old Steel Constructs—ancient relics of Fadalan’s glory, meant to be their last line of defense.
In the past, these giants had been nightmares to every enemy—impervious to blades and arrows, capable of crushing dozens with a single punch, able to obliterate entire infantry regiments.
But now? In the Ashen Empire’s “New War,” they were nothing more than clumsy, sitting targets.
“Boom—”
Faced with a formation of over thirty massive armors, the Steel Constructs offered no resistance. In seconds, they were overwhelmed by artillery fire, reduced to heaps of useless scrap metal.
The Arcane Legion stationed in Isengard raised their staves in unison, chanting incantations. Solar Flame Bursts, Lightning Rings, Meteor Storms—high-level spells erupted across the sky.
But then, a monstrous Ogre emerged from the sky, standing beneath an airship—Lanpu, the Empire’s Chief Minister, and a high-level mage.
He commanded dozens of Court Mages, weaving magic in perfect harmony, channeling a flood of magical energy into a colossal spell generator.
“Hummm—”
A hundred-meter-wide Anti-Magic Field erupted above Isengard, crushing every spell, erasing every spell in an instant.
Standing atop the airship, Lanpu grinned, humming a tune as he stroked his skull necklace—the latest addition to his growing collection.
“Is… is Isengard really going to fall?” Hain’s mind reeled. Despair swallowed him whole.
They hadn’t even had time to mount a proper counterattack. The Empire’s furious assault had already destroyed everything.
And Hain—this Divine Noble—wasn’t even allowed to witness the fall of his city. He would die first, frozen in ice.
“No!”
“I am a man of King Amanatara! I am a child of Sacred Fedran! I will not die like this!”
A fierce will to survive surged through him. His desire to live burned brighter than ever.
The ice sphere hovered in midair, suspended by an unseen force.
“Crack…”
A web of fine cracks spread across the surface.
Then—BOOM!
The ice shattered into a thousand fragments.
Hain’s eyes snapped open.
“For Isengard! For the Thrace Kingdom!”
His voice roared, echoing with sudden fury.
“And for the eternal Sacred Fedran!”
Two beams of light shot into the sky. Ice melted into water, then evaporated into dense white fog. The Angel Divine Offspring was now enveloped in the radiant light of the Sun, blazing with a thousand suns.
He flared his wings, ascending into the sky, flying straight toward the airship cluster—intent on doing what the fallen Duke of Northern Aether had once done.
He would ignite his own Divine Core—at the cost of his life—and destroy the Ashen Empire’s fleet.
With a soul-shattering roar, he cried:
“Come with me to death! I shall achieve immortality in the glory of King Amanatara!”
The soldiers of Isengard looked up. Their eyes widened in shock, as if grasping the last lifeline.
“That’s Hain Baron!”
“This light… it’s the Great Sun God! The Sun God hasn’t abandoned us! We are still children of Fadalan!”
“King Amanatara has descended!”
“Sacred Fedran, long live! May the light shine forever!”
Bathed in sunlight, the soldiers found their final courage. Fearless of death, they charged forward, drenched in radiant light, engaging the Empire’s steel monsters in close combat, fighting with every ounce of faith—determined to die standing.
But then—the sky tore open.
A monstrous claw ripped through the heavens. A vast spatial rift split the sky, radiating a terrifying aura that made the world tremble.
And from within, a colossal, fearsome dragon head slowly emerged—then, with a single, hungry gulp, swallowed the miniature sun in the sky.
In an instant, the battlefield plunged into darkness. Light vanished.
Isengard was swallowed by shadow. The soldiers stood frozen, silent, blanketed in despair, staring upward—motionless, hollow.
Had Hain Baron been devoured?
Had their sun—had their last hope—been eaten like a toy?
(End of Chapter)
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