The Ember Dragon Chapter 732: The Conflict Rekindled - Novel Cool

Chapter 732: The Conflict Rekindled

"Endless Blood War. Another War Mission, perfect—just what I need to grind some Faction Contribution. Time to level up my Bloodline."

Stuffed Bun rode his fully armored Wyvern in a wide circle above the Concession Zone. Below, the zone teemed with frantic Players, mere ants scurrying about in the dust-choked air. Roars echoed through the battlefield, and mechanical trucks and tractors—mechanical emissaries of the Mechanical Divinity—rumbled across the wasteland.

But as a self-proclaimed Professional Player, Stuffed Bun had long since dismissed such menial grinding quests. As he put it, the meager Faction Contribution wasn’t worth his personal intervention.

Then—his eyes snapped open.

A flash of light caught his attention. Peering down, he saw a familiar bald head cutting through the crowd, glowing faintly with an otherworldly radiance.

"Noodles, let’s go check it out. Looks like we’ve found a familiar face."

He patted the Wyvern’s neck. The two-headed dragon spiraled downward from the sky, crashing hard into the ground with a thunderous thud, kicking up a storm of dust.

As the dust settled, Stuffed Bun dismounted, grinning at the sight of the familiar faces.

"War Fury Brother! No wonder you’ve been MIA lately—you’ve been hiding out in Avernus all this time."

Tian Sheng Zhan Kuang rubbed his patina-smooth bald head with a simple, earnest smile. "This was a Covert Infiltration Mission. I couldn’t reveal any intelligence—not even in the Player Forum. I’ve been here nearly a month. Just about to send you an update when you showed up."

Suddenly, a deafening wind howled from above. A blinding white light descended from the sky, forcing Stuffed Bun to shield his eyes instinctively.

"What...?"

In the radiant glow, a figure emerged—cloaked in opulent armor, wielding a longsword, astride a Wyvern. The dragon’s scales shimmered faintly, gaps between them pulsing with a soft inner light. Even its vertical pupils bore tiny, sun-like markings.

Stuffed Bun couldn’t help but ask, "Whoa—what’s that? Some kind of flashy entrance effect? Where’d you get it?"

"Imperial Contribution Store’s new release—Radiant Dragon branch of the Bloodline Elixir. Grants Wyverns strength akin to a Solar Divine Spell."

"How much?"

"Too late. Sold out. It was an experimental version—only three bottles ever released. By the time I got there, it was the last one."

"Damn!" Stuffed Bun cursed under his breath. He felt like he’d just missed out on millions.

That kind of visual spectacle—even if it did nothing else—he’d have bought it in a heartbeat.

Singo patted the Wyvern’s head, then leapt gracefully from its back, landing beside the two.

"Long time no see, War狂. Wait—what’s that inverted hexagram rune on your chest? Is that a high-tier Pact from Hell?"

Tian Sheng Zhan Kuang didn’t hide it. "Yeah. Reward from a secret quest. Grants temporary access to Deep Hell Forgemaster-tier Hellish Power."

"Whoa. That’s insane. What’d you even do? Did you assassinate a Hell Lord?"

Stuffed Bun whistled, clearly joking.

But Tian Sheng Zhan Kuang paused. Then, slowly, nodded.

"...?"

Stuffed Bun fell silent, stunned. After a long pause, he finally muttered, "Wait… you actually did assassinate a Hell Lord?"

"Come on, not that extreme," Tian chuckled, rubbing his bald head again. "We were just participants. The real force behind it? That Duke Bair."

Now that the quest was over and secrecy was no longer required, he quickly laid out the full story.

They’d infiltrated Zaril’s palace, aided Duke Bair’s coup, and in the aftermath, Bair had personally bestowed upon him an Honor Title—Baron of Hell. Even high-tier Devils now thought twice before provoking him.

Stuffed Bun stared, silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he exhaled:

"Damn."

Even Singo was impressed. "I only heard rumors—there was a coup in Baator Hell, entire layers of the Abyss trembled. But I never thought you’d actually be part of it."

Singo turned to Tian. "War狂, you’ve been in Hell longer than us, your status is high—what’s the real situation with this Blood War?"

Tian shook his head, his expression turning grim. "Not good. Three Abyssal Lords have launched a joint invasion. Millions—millions—of Demons have poured into Avernus. Duke Bair’s army is retreating nonstop. Even he’s gone underground."

"Millions?" Stuffed Bun swallowed hard. It wasn’t just the number—it was the XP potential. The sheer scale of it… it was astronomical.

Tian nodded. "And the Abyssal Rift is still expanding. The numbers keep growing."

According to an old Devil, the largest Demon invasions in the past thousand years had occurred only a century ago—when Prince of Demons, Dimogogen, led a domain of over a billion Demons into Hell.

At the time, Emperor Aragon I of the Holy Faedran Empire led his entire army in person. Even the heavens and the gods themselves joined the war.

"Unbelievable," Stuffed Bun muttered. "Bottomless Abyss. Embodiment of Cosmic Chaos. The sheer scale… it’s insane."

Tian nodded in agreement. "True. Two million Demons is massive—but in the context of tens of thousands of years of Blood War history? It’s just… normal."

Singo frowned. "If Bair’s army is retreating, why haven’t the Demons immediately attacked the Bronze Fortress? Why give us time to prepare?"

"Because," Tian said, "a few days ago, Kai Xiusu descended into Hell. He blocked the offensive, shattered the Avatar of Koscherci, and pushed the Abyssal Legion back beyond the defensive line."

"Ah… so that’s why," Singo murmured, deep in thought.

Suddenly, Stuffed Bun pointed toward the horizon, his voice sharp with urgency. "Look! Over there!"

"The Abyssal Legion is coming!"

"Move fast! We need to finish the defensive line before they arrive! No slack!"

Far in the distance, the sky split open. Thousands upon thousands of Demons poured from the clouds, wings flapping chaotically, stretching for miles. The horde was endless, a black tide rolling toward the Bronze Fortress like a wave of eternal night.

Eardrum-piercing shrieks, infant-like cries of distress, guttural roars—layered into a cacophony that wracked the soul. The air itself vibrated with chaos, making ears bleed.

On the ground, the Demons surged southward like a flood of ink, consuming half the wasteland. Where they passed, grass withered. The earth turned to cursed Abyssal soil—rotten, foul, lifeless.

Among them: bloated, pus-filled Judgment Soul Demons; creatures drenched in eternal fire, Balor Fire Demons; and serpentine Abyss Dragons with dark red scales.

But the most imposing were the Tanalir Frost Giants.

Unlike ordinary Frost Giants, these giants bore mottled gray skin, jagged spines jutting from their backs, and venom dripping from their jaws. Their eyes—cold, gleaming, and merciless—burned with ancient malice.

They were descendants of a fallen civilization, yet unlike their vanished kin, these Frost Giants had chosen to serve Koscherci. They embraced the corruption of Chaos Blood willingly.

They revered the Lord of Wrath for his rage and violence—so much so that they attacked other Frost Giants who didn’t serve Koscherci.

The Frost Giants raised their scepters, chanting ancient runes. A biting wind howled across the land, and blizzards swept forward, freezing everything in their path.

They were Frost Shamans—carefully cultivated by Koscherci, wielding rune magic passed down from the dawn of time.

And beyond the horizon, three titanic silhouettes loomed from the thick Chaos Mist, shaking the very foundations of existence.

To the left: a half-man, half-horse archer, scales of gray armor covering his body, eyes blazing crimson with bloodlust.

To the right: a grotesque, bulbous figure oozing thick black slime, hundreds of thick, writhing tentacles of influence flailing in the air.

In the center: the tallest of them all. A giant with gray skin, immense strength, clad in a lightweight armor stitched from White Dragon hide. His eyes—pitch-black—radiated a chilling, bone-deep cold.

Now, the three: Hunting Sovereign Mastifa, Lord of Black Waters Ishinix, and Lord of Wrath—all poured their willpower down upon Avernus.

On the Bronze Fortress, Duke Bair spread his vast bat wings, raised his Hell Sword high, and roared with thunderous passion.

"Brothers! Devils are the greatest warriors! We have superior tactics, unbreakable will, and better gear! We will win this war! We will drive these beasts back into the Abyss! Avernus belongs to the Devil—and only to the Devil!"

"Want status? Strength? Ascension?" Bair swung his sword toward the oncoming Demons, voice thundering. "Annihilate them! By the name of Lord of Avernus, I swear—you will receive everything you desire!"

"ANNIHILATE THEM!"

"For the Nine Hells! For Avernus!"

The Devils roared in unison, their voices shaking the sky. As creatures of the Evil Order, the instinct to fight Chaos was ingrained in their blood. They would never allow these Avatar beasts to conquer Hell.

Faced with a common enemy, even old rivalries and grudges were set aside. Devils united, coordinating in perfect harmony, blocking the Demons at every turn.

"For the Abyss!"

"Hell’s filth—die!"

The Demons charged the defensive line. But the Devils were ready. Arrows rained down. Fireballs exploded midair. Steel forks pierced through flesh.

Each Devil clan worked in flawless coordination—clear roles, precise execution. They held back an enemy force dozens, even a hundred times their size.

Meanwhile, in the Concession Zone of the Empire of Ashen, the Players watched the Demon tide from afar, whispering in awe.

"Gods… so many Demons!"

"Yeah… overwhelming. Countless. It’s like they never end."

"This pressure is insane. Wait—who’s playing that background music? Are they trying to boost the enemy’s aura?"

To any mortal, such a sight would be enough to induce madness. Even Devils—those whose bloodline carried the memory of endless war—felt a chill in their hearts.

But the Players? They saw only greed. To them, the Demons weren’t horrors—they were walking treasure chests, XP packages, living gold mines. Some even drooled at the sight of the grotesque creatures.

"How much XP would we get if we wiped them all out?"

While solo players marveled, elite guilds were already mobilizing. And the Mechanical Divinity—now dominant—sent their Guardian Army forward without hesitation.

The Guardian Corps marched in formation, clad in long robes, their skin replaced with metal. Beneath their flesh, circuits pulsed like veins. Even their muscle tissue had been replaced with semi-transparent synthetic material.

Their massive limbs—fused with titanium—swung like hammers. Guns mounted on their arms roared, spitting bullets like a storm. The front lines of the Demon army were torn apart in seconds, reduced to smoldering, stinking carcasses.

Above, aerospace warships hovered, their massive barrels firing searing beams. Explosions tore through the air, consuming Demons in waves, turning them to ash.

"Hear me! The hour of the Mechanical Divinity has come!"

"Spirit of Machines rejoices!"

"Praise Om Misea! Praise the God of All Machines!"

With the deep toll of a great bell and the growl of engines, the Mechanical Divinity’s Players surged forward—riding armored mechs, driving tanks, charging into the Demon tide. Steel bodies crushed Demons beneath them.

Then, a Dragon-Scaled Cultivator plummeted from the sky, crashing into the ground with a deafening boom, then plunged into the horde, slashing and hacking with terrifying precision.

Massacre.

This wasn’t war. It was a slaughter.

Artillery, bullets, and machines combined into a monstrous meat grinder—ripping through the Demons, shredding them to pieces.

Under the torrent of Mechanical Divinity’s firepower, low-tier Demons were utterly fragile. Within minutes, thousands lay dead.

In the rear, Stuffed Bun suddenly smacked his thigh.

"Wait… are they serious? The Mechanical Divinity’s home crew’s trying to hoard all the resources!"

He leapt back onto his Wyvern. The two-headed dragon flared its wings, let out a sharp cry, and shot toward the frontlines.

Others saw it too. With a mix of flight, teleportation, and even human cannon launches, Players surged forward—racing toward the front, fearless despite facing enemies ten, even a hundred times their number.

To them, the Demons weren’t the threat.

They were the prey.

(End of Chapter)

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