https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-712-Confrontation-and-Judgment-Stare/13677597/
Chapter 711: True Sun – The Red Dragon's Descent
Yet Wilhelm hovered in the sky, his Six Wings gently pulsing behind him, his expression utterly detached as he raised the Spear of Final Judgment.
“They were traitors to the Kingdom of Thrace. To serve as Holy Guards, to sacrifice their Spiritual Souls for the realm—this was their greatest honor! You need only know this: they shall become the kingdom’s sharpest blade. As for the source of their strength? Irrelevant. If it aids in the Rise Again of Sacred Fedran, even the ultimate sacrifice is worth it!”
A wave of shock swept through the City of August. Murmurs erupted, voices rising in fury and disbelief.
“How could this be?!”
“That’s Hell’s power!”
“But Your Majesty, we are subjects of the Sun God! How can we consort with such evil?!”
A general from the Garrisoned South stepped forward, lowering himself into a half-kneel before the king.
“Indeed! This is the City of Dawn, the Land of Radiant Light! How can such an abomination exist here?”
Tirena remained suspended midair, her wings fluttering softly, her head bowed in silence.
As a Divine Noble Duke personally ennobled by Wilhelm, and one of the kingdom’s most loyal figures, Tirena had long known of the pact between the king and Zaril. But she had no choice—she had already walked the path of inevitability.
The general named Clarence drew his sword, the blade ringing like a bell in the air.
“Your Majesty, I urge you—turn from this dark path, return to the embrace of the Sun God, and walk the righteous way—”
At that moment, he lifted his head… and locked eyes with Wilhelm.
Clarence froze.
His blood turned to ice.
Wilhelm’s gaze was unnaturally cold—frost biting through bone, piercing straight into his soul. It was as if he had fallen into a cavern of eternal winter.
What was that gaze?
Those eyes—golden, radiant, divine—yet they pulsed like a devouring vortex, threatening to drag his very spiritual essence into oblivion.
Only then did Clarence truly see the man before him—the so-called King of Angels.
“In the sacred territory of Sacred Fedran, my command is absolute law. Are you truly contemplating rebellion? Even turning against me?”
“No, Your Majesty… I did not mean—” Clarence’s voice cracked. His face paled. He collapsed to the ground, trembling uncontrollably.
Wilhelm, towering above him in overwhelming majesty, stared down with a voice as sharp as winter wind:
“Before the enemy outside, we must first purge the enemy within. Holy Guard—eliminate these traitors!”
“Yes, Your Majesty! Eliminate the rebels!”
The so-called Holy Guard—dark, hollow-eyed puppets of Hell—spread their black wings and dove. Fiery chains, glowing red-hot, lashed around Clarence like serpents, binding him tightly. He writhed in agony as the chains seared his flesh, leaving deep, smoking wounds. His screams echoed through the city:
“Your Majesty! Don’t kill me! I’ve fought for this kingdom for over twenty years—risked my life across every frontier!”
But the Holy Guard showed no mercy. With flaming longswords, they severed his neck in a single, clean stroke.
Slash—
His head tumbled across the ground, rolling several times before coming to rest. Even in death, his face bore the expression of utter disbelief.
Clarence could never have imagined that after years of service, a man of merit and valor, he would be executed so easily.
The city fell into silence. Utter silence.
And Wilhelm’s cold voice rang across the sky:
“Do you see now? This is the fate of rebellion.”
Before the eyes of the entire Thrace populace, Wilhelm stood in golden armor, the Spiral Spear in hand, his Six Wings unfurling like radiant wings of dawn. Behind him, the Luminous Wheel blazed, casting beams of pure light across the heavens.
He was still majestic—dignified, divine—like a sun god descended to earth, bringing warmth and light to all.
Yet the Hell puppets surrounding him—lifeless, cracked, their eyes empty—flapped their black wings in eerie harmony. Light and darkness, purity and evil, wove together in a chilling tapestry.
Then, from afar, a deafening roar split the sky.
Smaug! The great dragon lifted his head and let out a long, triumphant cry. The Imperial Dragon Flock returned in full force, hybrid dragons spreading their wings like waves of storm, surging toward the city walls.
Wilhelm raised his Spiral Spear and roared:
“Holy Guard—annihilate these blasphemers!”
Before the words had even faded, the Hell puppets surged forward in a deadly swarm, forming a mottled current in the sky. They collided head-on with the dragon horde.
In an instant, the power of Avernus erupted.
Hellfire blazed skyward, engulfing the heavens. The air burned. Countless hybrid dragons were incinerated mid-flight, their agonized wails echoing as they fell from the sky.
“Extinct the Hope of Enemies! Enforcement of Order by Iron Hand! The Dragon Lord Above All!”
Anthony raised his long spear high, leapt into the air, and pierced a Hell puppet straight through the heart.
Dragon-Bound Holy Knights slammed their longswords against heavy shields, the thunderous clash shaking the earth. Their unwavering willpower, their sacred resolve, coalesced once more into a colossal Phantom of the Red Dragon—charging forward to meet the Holy Guard.
Roar—
The phantom unleashed a torrent of dragon flame, instantly reducing several Hell puppets to ash.
But the puppets showed no fear. They swarmed the phantom, surrounding it, attacking with relentless fury, carving countless wounds into its spectral form.
“For Thrace! For Sacred Fedran!”
Tirena raised her judgment sword, unleashing a beam of blinding light. She led her divine offspring—angelic warriors—into battle, joining forces with the Holy Guard to siege the Phantom of the Red Dragon.
Once the followers of the Sun God, the guardians of justice against evil—now they fought alongside Hell’s puppets. A cruel, ironic spectacle.
The battle raged on, chaos spiraling. Even the players joined the fray—some soaring through the air with flight spells, others leaping with incredible strength, hunting the Hell puppets in midair.
“Dare you, demon spawn!” roared Great威 Tianlong, using the city wall as a springboard to leap over a hundred meters into the sky.
With six arms, the monk unleashed a flurry of punches, each strike leaving afterimages. The force of his blows shattered a Hell puppet mid-air, its black feathers scattering like ash.
Steel Tide seized a large wyvern, riding it through the sky. With one hand, he fired his Blast Arrow Rifle, unleashing a storm of metal shrapnel that tore apart a distant Hell puppet.
Then, he slung the rifle back, gripping the wyvern’s claws, swinging violently—propelling himself forward with explosive force. At close range, his chain-saw sword spun at high speed, cleaving a Hell puppet in half from crown to crotch.
Boom!
The Dragon-Scaled Cultivator landed with a heroic stance, holding the half-remnant of a puppet in his hand.
“Full assault—launch!”
“Open fire!”
At the same time, the Imperial Armor Legion returned from outside the city. Giant armored constructs marched forward, hundreds of tanks roaring across the wasteland.
Far off, mortars fired in unison. Massive shells rained down like a storm, crashing into the city walls with terrifying force. Explosions erupted, flames and smoke swallowing the fortifications.
The walls trembled. Rockfalls cascaded.
Just as the situation reached its peak, General Karell—commander of the Third Defense Sector—raised his longsword and bellowed with a voice raw with fury.
“Brothers and sisters! We are the proud children of the Sun God! The last remnant of Sacred Fedran! We will never ally with Hell! We will not tolerate a king seduced by the Devil’s temptation—turning our families, our friends, our comrades into filthy puppets, betraying their very souls!”
“Karell! You’re asking for death!”
Wilhelm’s face darkened. A terrifying aura of intimidation descended from the sky, crushing, overwhelming.
Yet Karell stood firm, his willpower holding him upright despite the pressure. His voice was hoarse—but steel in tone:
“This is not nobility. It is the bare minimum a Fadalan soul must uphold. To defend it, I will gladly give my life force!”
He pointed his sword toward Wilhelm in the sky. His gaze was weary—but unyielding.
“I swear before King Amanatara: the being blinded by power, led into darkness by the Devil’s whisper, who sacrifices the nation for selfish desire—this man is no longer our monarch!”
Like a martyr, he roared:
“For Amanatara! For Sacred Fedran! For true light and justice! Attack!”
Instantly, the gates of the Third Defense Sector slowly creaked open. Thousands of Karell’s loyal guards raised their weapons, charging toward the Holy Guard behind them.
But before the radiant, holy King of Angels and his legion of Hell puppets, they were like moths flying into fire.
Yet soon, the Imperial Army poured through the breach, marching in full force, joining the defected Thrace soldiers in a united assault on Wilhelm.
“General Karell!”
“He’s defected?”
Most Thrace soldiers stood frozen, stunned, torn between loyalty to their king and allegiance to the general who fought for justice.
Even Tirena paused, her expression softening into a quiet sigh for her old comrade.
Watching the soldiers turn on each other, Wilhelm’s flawless face twisted—distorted by rage. In his solar eyes, fury and hatred burned with unbearable intensity.
“Karell… I once held you in the highest regard. And you betrayed me.”
The King himself stepped forward. Wilhelm spread his Six Wings, slowly raising the Spear of Final Judgment. The tip, bathed in golden light, now aimed at the distant Karell.
“I will let your corpse teach every soul in August—I am the kingdom. I am Thrace. I am Fadalan. Anyone who defies me… dies.”
The golden light in the sky coalesced into a spear over twenty meters long—like a weapon forged by a god to judge all mortals.
As the overwhelming aura of power descended upon him, Karell gasped, his legs shaking. With every ounce of strength, he forced himself to stand.
He looked up. His eyes reflected the blazing light. Yet his gaze remained unafraid.
“False King… your rule will be overthrown by the True Sun.”
Wilhelm’s eyes flared with fury.
“I AM the true successor of Fadalan!”
Boom—
A thunderous roar split the heavens. The Spiral Spear in Wilhelm’s hand pierced the air itself, the golden spearhead tearing through space.
The giant beam of light descended from above—shattering the sky like glass. Though radiant and divine, it carried the majesty of absolute, merciless destruction.
At a hundred meters above ground, it split into a thousand beams—filling the sky, raining down upon Karell and his loyalists like a storm of divine retribution.
“I will not submit to a false king!”
Karell roared, swinging his longsword with his final strength.
Shred—
A sound of flesh tearing.
Karell froze. A massive golden spear had pierced his chest, creating a gaping wound. His heart—reduced to ash—was gone.
Blood poured from his lips. His voice, broken, whispered his last words:
“Wilhelm… True Sun… will stop you…”
Then he fell. Even in death, his eyes remained fixed on the north—piercing through the thick smoke, as if seeking the sun hidden beyond.
Around him, his thousand loyal guards lay dead—each chest pierced, blood pooling into a crimson river.
One strike. Thousands dead.
This was the power of the King of Angels.
Seeing such horror, even the wavering Thrace soldiers froze, their hearts trembling. The will to resist was gone.
“Foolish mortal.”
Wilhelm stared coldly at the corpse of Karell, raising the Spear of Final Judgment, his voice dripping with fury:
“This is the fate of defiance. Thrace, you need only submit to me. Be loyal to the True Sun, and I shall raise you all again—Sacred Fedran reborn!”
Tirena seized the moment. She raised her sword and cried:
“Long live His Majesty Wilhelm! Rise Again, Sacred Fedran!”
“Long live Thrace!”
“For Sacred Fedran!”
Under the shadow of death, the Thrace soldiers began to chant, rushing toward the Third Defense Sector to block the Imperial Army’s invasion.
But then—
A voice echoed from the horizon.
“True Sun? Hah… Baator Hell has no sun. Only eternal crimson skies. And you—Wilhelm—were never more than a puppet in Zaril’s hands.”
“Who dares speak such blasphemy?”
Wilhelm’s face twisted in rage. He turned toward the north, eyes blazing—then suddenly, his expression shifted to fear, shock, as if he had seen something no mortal should witness.
“No… it can’t be. It’s impossible!”
He shook his head, muttering in disbelief.
“What… is that?”
“Look! Look there!”
“Is that… the sun? It’s night now—how can there be a sun? Has King Amanatara descended?”
The Thrace soldiers murmured in awe, staring at the northern sky.
The heavens suddenly blazed. The sky, once darkened by smoke and fog, now burned like a stained parchment lit from within. Thousands of beams of light poured down upon the earth, banishing the smoke and the gloom.
The warm, golden sunlight touched their skin—so familiar, so long forgotten. It felt like returning to the Sun God Festival of old. The soil dried instantly, and steam rose from the earth like a sigh.
They could not believe it. They had not felt such sunlight in years.
Was it truly the Sun God’s return? A divine miracle?
All eyes turned upward.
There, hanging high in the northern sky, was a sun—intense, radiant, blazing with unbearable heat.
And before it, floating in the heavens like a mountain made of fire and light, was a Red Dragon—vast beyond measure, its wings slowly flapping, as if it carried the sun upon its back.
The dragon was wrapped in a shimmering golden aura—divine, sacred, yet indistinct. Its presence exuded a power so immense, it made even the most steadfast souls feel the urge to kneel.
“W-what…?”
“By Amanatara…”
The Thrace soldiers stared in stunned silence. Their minds shattered. The world itself seemed to tremble.
(End of Chapter)
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