Chapter 706: City of Dawn
On the Eastern Front, the City of Saint Michael fell within days. The Eastern Army’s Supreme Commander, Imperial Marshal Drool, led the Domain’s main force across the Radiant Mountain Range like a sharp longsword, slicing straight into the heartland of the Thrace Kingdom. With unimaginable speed, they advanced toward August.
Meanwhile, the Western Front surged forward, rampaging across the vast plain, mercilessly tearing through Thrace’s defensive lines and leaving the scattered cities to be dealt with by the Stellarfallers.
In just seven days, under the Empire’s lightning-fast offensive, Thrace’s defenses collapsed. Armies stationed across the realm were annihilated.
Then, under Wilhelm’s “highest orders,” every military force within Thrace—Holy Guard, Golem Army, Arcane Legion, and Angel Divine Offspring—marched in full formation toward August. All strength converged upon the capital of the Thrace Kingdom, known as the “City of Dawn.”
August, Thrace Kingdom.
At the city’s center, the towering Sun God Tower pierced the sky. Its surface shimmered with intricate carvings resembling flowing liquid sunlight. At its peak, the Sun Wheel Sigil glowed without cease, radiating a steady aura. This was not only a sacred symbol of faith but also the core of the city’s energy shield. Inscribed upon its surface were ancient Sun God scripts, continuously converting sunlight into a protective barrier against attacks.
Angel Divine Offspring, led by Duke Tirena, patrolled the tower’s perimeter. Their wings gleamed like molten gold, and they wielded Swords of Judgment as they scanned the heavens.
Tirena raised her longsword and roared to her brethren:
“The fate of Feanso lies in our hands! We are the warriors chosen by the Sun God—for Thrace, for Sacred Fedran, and for the great Amanata—we will not let August fall! We will not let this sacred land bathed in sunlight be seized by our enemies!”
At the tower’s apex, three hundred Holy Church Warriors stood motionless, wings unfurled. Their faces, flawless and serene, bore no trace of emotion—like statues carved from divine stone.
“Heavenly Feather, Blazing Eyes; Blazing Sword, Shattering Armor; Sacred Chant, Sealing the Forehead; Divine Eyes, Like Torches.”
The Holy Law Chorus chanted hymns around the sun disk at the tower’s summit, their voices weaving a sacred spell to strengthen the barrier—enduring, unyielding.
The city walls combined arcane and divine magic. The outer layer was a gray-white rune barrier, tens of meters thick, embedded with expensive alchemical matrices. When struck, it activated a dynamic defensive rune array, dispersing physical impacts underground while absorbing thirty percent of magical energy and channeling it to the Arcane Army.
The inner wall bristled with fifty-foot-tall Prism Towers, each crowned with a crystal prism controlled by a Grand Arcane Scholar. These prisms converted absorbed energy into annihilation beams or wide-area shields.
Behind the battlements, thousands of Golems stood silently—each nearly ten meters tall, their shells forged from meteor iron, their cores housing imprisoned spiritual souls within alchemical devices. Once war began, they would awaken as merciless killing machines, immune to pain.
In the streets, officers and soldiers rushed past, herding panicked civilians into shelters. No one was allowed to flee.
“Move! Everyone behind you—hurry up! If you’re this slow, you’ll get whipped!” barked a Thrace officer on horseback, his voice sharp with fury.
A ragged woman, clutching a child, summoned courage and whispered, “Sir… my child hasn’t eaten in days…”
Crack!
The whip lashed her back. She gasped, barely audible.
The officer didn’t even glance. “Shut up! Do you want to watch August fall? Do you want to become sustenance for some evil dragon? Anyone else who disobeys—I’ll mark them as traitors and cut them down!”
The child clung to her mother’s thin frame, crying in distress:
“Mother… I’m not hungry… we don’t need to eat… we don’t…”
Under Wilhelm’s orders, every grain of food and home in August had been conscripted to sustain the armies converging from across the realm.
Watching this, Deyef, who had just arrived, sighed deeply.
“I never thought things here would be this dire… Citizens can’t even eat.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a piece of black bread, tossing it to the crying child.
“Thank you, sir…” the child choked out.
The officer turned sharply, fury in his eyes—until he saw the sacred emblem stitched onto Deyef’s official uniform. He said nothing, only cracked his whip again, driving the refugees forward.
Deyef walked through the streets, heading toward the Kingdom’s Intelligence Department to report on military conditions.
He stared at the endless flow of soldiers, the bodies of refugees left abandoned on the roadside—his heart ached.
This city, once so pure and radiant… how had it become this?
From the day he first set foot in Isdalia, Deyef had sensed it—the Empire of Ashen would bring irreversible change to the kingdom, to the entire continent.
But he never imagined this day would come so soon. In just a few short years, the Empire had marched all the way to August.
“Amanata above…”
“Gods…”
“Look! It’s His Majesty Wilhelm! What a divine presence!”
“His Majesty Wilhelm will lead us through this siege, to a bright future!”
Deyef looked up.
From the Sun God Tower, a light ten thousand zhang high burst forth. And there, rising slowly from the tower’s peak, stood Wilhelm.
He stood bathed in endless radiance, his towering frame etched with divine script. Six blazing wings unfolded behind him, their flames pulsing like a heartbeat. In his eyes, golden sun wheels burned with clarity—like a god descending from the heavens.
In his hand was the Spiral Spear known as Final Judgment—its shaft woven from seven entwined chains of holy light, its tip hovering a miniature sun, collapsing and reforming in endless cycles.
Even Deyef could not help but whisper:
“His Majesty Wilhelm… he’s… stronger than ever.”
Since the Sun God fell into slumber, the strength of Divine Offspring across the land had waned. Yet Wilhelm remained powerful—like the sun itself, eternal and unyielding.
“Long live His Majesty Wilhelm!”
“Long live Thrace!”
The soldiers erupted in frenzied cheers.
Wilhelm scanned the battlefield with a solemn gaze, then spoke, his voice resonant and unwavering:
“My subjects… my children bathed in Amanata’s radiance—the hour of reckoning has come. The evil dragon from the north has crossed the Radiant Mountain Range, marching upon August. It seeks to claim Thrace as its domain. It seeks to enslave the children of the Sun God, drain our blood and spiritual essence, and turn this sacred land into a realm of bloodshed and massacre!”
The soldiers roared in fury, cursing and spitting, vowing to tear the beast apart—decapitate it, break its wings, offer it as a sacrifice to the Sun God.
“Insolent beast!”
“Damned monster!”
“Gods, help us!”
“Don’t worry—Wilhelm will lead us to victory!”
Wilhelm’s expression hardened. His voice, though calm, rang with iron resolve:
“But I will make that evil dragon know—this is but a foolish fantasy. I will show them that the great King Amanatara is sacred. That the children of the Sun God will never submit to such cruel tyrants! Long live Thrace! Long live Sacred Fedran!”
He gripped the Spiral Spear. At its tip, a beam of blinding light erupted—so bright it split the golden sky, forming a massive Sun Sacred Emblem.
Instantly, the entire City of August exploded in cheers.
“Long live Thrace!”
“Long live Sacred Fedran!”
“For the Eternal Lord of Light, supreme and eternal!”
From the Angel Divine Offspring circling the tower, to the Holy Guard standing beside Wilhelm, to the Arcane Legion within the walls—every soul roared in unison. Even the Heavenly Horses screamed in triumph. The Golems bellowed in deep, thunderous voices, as if crying out for victory.
The Thracians had always revered Wilhelm as the successor to the old Emperor, their devotion overflowing with reverence.
But Deyef had once seen Wilhelm—his body cracked, shattered. In just a few short years, how had he become so perfect?
Then came the missing persons—countless cases over the past years. Deyef felt a chill crawl up his spine. He dared not think further.
Suddenly, a Messenger Soldier on a Pegasus soared through the sky, waving urgently.
“Deyef, sir! General Karell is waiting! As a Supernatural Warrior, you are assigned to the Third Defense Sector!”
“I understand.” Deyef nodded, then drew his longsword. He marched steadily toward the direction the messenger pointed.
No matter what, as a subject of the Thrace Kingdom, he must defend this nation, protect the city behind him.
Pushing through the crowd, Deyef reached the inner wall and climbed the spiral stairs to the City Tower. There, he found General Karell standing tall, sword at his side.
“General Karell!” Deyef greeted.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Karell said, turning without surprise. “Come. Follow me.”
“Is there something urgent?” Deyef frowned. In the midst of war preparation, why was the general summoning him alone?
Still, he followed—locking the door behind him.
Karell sat in his chair, staring at Deyef. His voice dropped low.
“I know you were once a diplomat, sent to the Empire’s homeland. Was it truly… as the propaganda claims? A hellish prison?”
As he said “hell,” Karell’s throat trembled—like he remembered something terrible.
Deyef hesitated, then shook his head.
“No. It was… prosperous. Wealthy. In many ways, not unlike August.”
Karell gave a bitter smile. “You didn’t see the streets, did you? Now, August isn’t even half as vibrant. It’s not the glorious ‘City of Dawn’ of the past. Now? It’s a giant drained of blood by war. Once strong and healthy—yes. But that was a forgotten history.”
Deyef fell silent.
Karell locked eyes with him, his gaze deep and hollow.
“If the one you pledged loyalty to… became a monster… would you still follow?”
“…You mean—” Deyef trembled, nearly gasping.
The suspicion he’d buried for years now surged to the surface.
Everyone said King Amanatara had awakened. That Wilhelm, by divine favor, retained his power and forged the Holy Guard.
But what if… the Sun God still slept?
Then where did Wilhelm’s strength come from?
Karell’s eyes filled with despair. He spoke in a broken voice:
“Deyef… Thrace is no longer the kingdom you once served. The one that upheld light and justice. In the past years, I’ve watched my faith be defiled by demons. I’ve watched my land become a land of sin. I’ve watched my king tempted by darkness… and I was powerless to stop it.”
He turned slowly, his eyes heavy with sorrow.
“Deyef… I know you’re different. Years ago, you were exiled from August for opposing noble tyranny. I know you won’t stand by and watch this city become a den of demons.”
“…You mean—” Deyef’s breath caught. His mind raced toward something unthinkable—something the kingdom would never tolerate.
Karell said nothing. He pressed a cold iron object into Deyef’s palm, then turned, opened the door, and left without another word.
“Amanata above… forgive my sin.”
Deyef stood frozen. Then, slowly, he opened his hand.
There, resting in his palm, was a vertical pupil etched with fire—the insignia of the Empire of Ashen.
Boom—
From the tower, twenty-four horns carved with angelic reliefs sounded—deep, mournful, echoing across the city.
Deyef stepped outside, staring beyond the walls.
And what he saw… would haunt him for life.
In the sky, vast airships swarmed like locusts. Two-headed dragons flapped their wings in chaotic formation, their wingspans stretching across a hundred miles, blotting out the sun.
On the earth, dust clouds rolled forward. The ground trembled. Steam tanks churned over wastelands, armored vehicles hauling heavy artillery in a thunderous rush.
And there—on the horizon—massive Heavy Mechs marched forward, their steps shaking the world, casting towering silhouettes against the sky.
Beyond, countless spatial portals tore open in the air, leading to infinite realms of the multiverse. From them poured the Fire Elemental Legion, the Shadow Legion, the Hell Pact Legion—swarming forth in endless waves.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
