Chapter 780: The Rainy Night in Green Valley Town
The sky hung low and leaden, shrouded in thick, oppressive clouds that seemed to devour the world whole. The air was thick with a suffocating mist, heavy with the scent of impending storm. Rain was coming.
Green Valley Town lay silent beneath the darkening heavens. Wounded soldiers from the south lay on cold wooden planks inside the church, their soft moans drifting through the stillness. Duke Franz stood at the church’s threshold, one hand gripping his sword, his face carved with scars, his expression grim and solemn. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply—inhaling the danger in the air: the coppery tang of boiling blood, the acrid stench of gunpowder, the foul reek of acid.
He opened his eyes slowly, glancing at the Bishop beside him. “Do you feel it?”
The Bishop frowned, his withered, scarred hands trembling slightly as they clutched the Sun Staff. “Lord Duke… you should rest. Those Cultists won’t reach us so soon.”
He wasn’t wrong. Since the great rout, they had fled without pause, days of relentless flight. Many soldiers hadn’t slept in over two days—nerves frayed, minds hollowed by exhaustion.
Duke Franz shook his head. “I can feel them coming. The beasts in the darkness are already hungry. They’re eager to consume us all.”
The Bishop sighed softly, raising his staff in prayer. “My lord… you’re worn thin. Overwhelmed by fatigue. Rest now. King Amanatara will protect us—”
Boom!
A sudden flash split the sky, followed by a deep, rolling thunderclap—shattering the Bishop’s words.
The clouds churned violently. Rain began to fall in steady sheets, as if the heavens themselves were weeping. From within the storm, shadowy forms stirred—twisting, flickering like monstrous insects in a maelstrom of chaos.
“We can’t wait any longer—they’re here!” Duke Franz spun, his cloak flaring behind him as he leapt forward. In three strides, he reached the bronze gong at the town center, inscribed with the sacred emblem of Amannata. With a mighty shove, he struck it.
Dong—
Dong-dong—
The sound rang out across the town. Instantly, the watchtower guards snapped awake, screaming at the top of their lungs:
“Enemy Ambush! Enemy Ambush!!”
“What? The damned Cultists are coming?!”
“Hide! They say the Evil Dragon loves devouring young maidens and children! They won’t spare a single soul!”
Panic seized the townspeople. Men, women, and children scrambled into cellars, crouched in corners, or fled toward the central church. The soldiers in the church stirred awake instantly—no need for command. Longswords, spears, and bows were snatched up in a heartbeat. After days of flight, endless massacres, their sleep was shallow. A whisper, a shift—any sign—was enough to trigger battle-ready reflexes.
“Hurry up!”
“The bell’s rung! The Cultists are here!”
“Form up at the town square!”
Soldiers surged from the church, dashing through the pouring rain toward the center. The logistics unit had already rolled out their mobile trebuchets—weapons designed to fight dragons and wyverns.
Boom!
A jagged bolt of lightning split the night, illuminating the pitch-black sky like a wound. For a moment, the world was bathed in blinding white.
Under that flash, Duke Franz stood before the knight sculpture in the square, his silver greatsword gleaming. “My most loyal and brave warriors—those damned Cultists have come again!”
He raised the sword high. “They seek to crush our will, kill our bodies, and erase every last rebel from this land. They want to turn Seleucus into a purgatory for mankind—a playground for the Evil Dragon!”
“Do you wish your wives and children to live in a world of constant fear? To watch helplessly as they become dragon’s meal—while you are powerless to stop it?!”
The soldiers stirred. Their spirits lifted slightly, though exhaustion still weighed heavily on them. They stood in silence beneath the storm, rain soaking through their armor, making them feel heavy, clumsy.
Duke Franz raised his greatsword toward the south—the swirling darkness where shadows stirred. “Our fate is in our own hands! Live or die—we choose! Kill—!”
“For Amannata!” The Bishop raised the Sun Staff high, unleashing a radiant golden light that banished fatigue and weariness from the soldiers’ hearts.
After a thousand miles of exile, these loyal warriors finally roared—fueled by long-suppressed rage, their despair momentarily cleared.
“Kill—!”
They marched forward through the storm, swords drawn, shields raised. The pike and shield infantry slammed their shields into the ground, forming a solid wall of steel. Behind them, soldiers loaded hand crossbows, held their breath, eyes locked on the sky. Rain mixed with sweat, streaming down their faces, soaking into their clothes.
In the distance, wagons rumbled over muddy roads, hauling Seleucus’ heavy trebuchets. The storm clouds churned closer. Beneath the thunder, a deep, chaotic roar echoed—chilling to the bone. Some soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons, their hearts heavy with dread.
But most stood still, numb. After so many days of flight, they had grown accustomed to massacre, to the sight of comrades dying beside them.
Awooo—
A guttural roar tore from the storm. From the depths of the clouds emerged a massive, emerald-green wyvern, its neck bearing a Cultist clad in black robes, a dragon-head mask hiding his face.
Logan Benites, The Dark Fang, the most cunning and cruel of all dragon-worshipping cult leaders in Northern Seleucus.
“Franz. I never thought the former Duke would run like a mouse without a nest—scuttling with his subordinates like vermin. How pathetic.”
Franz glared up, raising his greatsword. “Better than you—traitor to humanity, a dog of the Evil Dragon!”
Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve fled for so long. Haven’t you realized your fate yet?”
“The Great Mother of Monsters will lead the world. And you—foolish rebel—won’t even be worthy of becoming a slave. If you kneel now, beg for mercy, I might let you drink a drop of dragon blood… and serve as my attendant.”
“Never!”
Franz roared, hefting his long spear and hurling it skyward. It sliced through the air, tracing a perfect arc.
The Cultist pulled the reins. The wyvern reared, roaring. The spear just missed—ripping a gash in the black robe, drawing blood from the Cultist’s left shoulder.
Logan’s face twisted in fury. He raised his dragon-head scepter. “Go! Tear them apart!”
Roar—!
Instantly, dozens of creatures burst from the storm—wyverns, winged dragons, chimera—all dripping with foul dragon blood. They screamed as they dove, descending upon the alert human soldiers.
At less than a hundred meters from the defensive line, Duke Franz raised his sword. “All units—Fire!”
In an instant, thousands of arrows flew upward, a storm of steel. The first wave of monsters was pierced through and fell like rain, torn apart mid-air. The heavy trebuchets fired thick, barbed arrows, spearing through multiple beasts in a single shot.
Logan’s scepter pulsed with a sinister glow. The dragon-blooded beasts grew even more frenzied, fearless of death, charging forward without hesitation. Acid and poison rained from above, eating through shields and armor. Casualties mounted. Only fire breaths, weak in the rain, offered any defense.
From the thick forest beyond, more black-robed cult monks surged forth—thousands of them—charging in waves.
“For the Mother of Monsters!”
“The Day of Extinction is near! The Great Dragon shall rule the world!”
The monsters lunged into the human lines. Soldiers swung longswords, thrust spears, fought with desperate fury.
“Kill it! Pierce its heart!”
“Awooo!”
The wyvern shrieked as multiple spears pierced its chest. In its final struggle, one soldier was struck by the creature’s venomous tail—blood sprayed, and he fell, dead.
Scales flew. Blood and severed limbs rained down, turning the ground into a crimson swamp beneath the falling rain.
Boom!
Another thunderclap. Lightning flashed—blinding, white-hot. In that split second, Duke Franz saw Logan—sharp-eyed, unblinking—locked in his sight.
He raised his greatsword, the blade gleaming under the storm’s light, pointing directly at the Cultist leader.
“Logan! You betrayed King Aragon!”
Logan laughed. “Betrayal? I’m saving Seleucus! When the Dragon Queen returns, only this path will save the kingdom!”
“Enough lies!” Franz roared, leaping forward with a thunderous kick. He became a blur—flying thirty meters into the air.
Whoosh!
The legendary warrior swung his massive greatsword, slicing through the night like a scythe, descending with overwhelming force.
Unlike the divine beings of Fadalan, Duke Franz had no divine favor. He had forged his body to the limit—human flesh made into a living dragon. Pure, raw strength was his weapon.
Seeing the slash approach, Logan raised his scepter. The vertical pupil flared with light—suddenly, time slowed. Space warped around Franz. Dozens of two-headed dragon silhouettes coiled around him.
Then—black fire erupted from the scepter, shooting straight at Franz’s face.
He twisted mid-air, but the fire still struck his shoulder. His chest plate cracked open, seared black. Yet Franz only gritted his teeth, let out a low groan, and rolled through the air, swinging the greatsword again—this time, aimed at Logan’s body.
Swoosh—
The blade split the wyvern in half. Black, filthy blood sprayed across the sky as the beast fell. But Logan dissolved into a swirling black mist—vanishing, then reappearing a few meters away, grinning.
“Franz… still as powerful as ever. But still just as blind. You still don’t see the truth.”
Franz crashed to the ground, his body drenched in dragon blood. He pushed himself up, sword in hand, eyes locked on his former comrade—now his sworn enemy.
Behind him, black mist swirled, thickening, as if something immense were about to rise. A palpable aura of dread filled the air.
“What… is that?” Franz tightened his grip, breathing hard. His face paled.
“Lord Duke—watch out! It’s a dragon! A real dragon!”
The Bishop’s cry rang out from afar.
Roar—!
From the storm, monstrous shapes emerged—massive bodies, terrifying claws, broad wings, deep green scales. Not the mongrel beasts of dragon bloodline, but true dragons—Green Dragons, one of the Five-Colored Dragons.
“Lowly humans!”
“Miserable creatures!”
More green forms poured from the storm behind Logan. Twelve Green Dragons filled the battlefield—each one a young dragon, and among them, one ancient, towering, its eyes like molten emerald.
“Wail before the Great Dragon! Tremble beneath the Dragon Wing!”
With thunderous roars, the Green Dragons spread their wings, swooping over the battlefield. Shadows fell like death itself. They did not distinguish friend from foe. Their maws opened, spewing acid capable of melting steel—reducing entire enemy units, even their own cultist allies, to bloody mist.
To these arrogant, merciless dragons, the cultists were disposable pawns—no true allies.
In the chaos of screams and roars, Duke Franz’s soldiers were torn apart, their line shattered into disarray.
Four Green Dragons and Logan himself surrounded Franz, their vertical pupils glowing—staring at him like prey.
The ancient dragon licked its lips, venom dripping from its jaws, its voice like grinding metal. “This human… is mine.”
Franz stared at the approaching dragon, grip tight on his greatsword. He was ready to die—if he could take these four evil dragons and the traitor with him. Worth it.
Let it end here, he thought, grinding his teeth.
The dragons gathered acid in their throats, flexed their claws, preparing their spell-like powers. Waiting only for the ancient one’s command to kill the human.
Then—
A faint voice called out from the distance.
“Lord Duke! Hurry!”
The old Bishop stumbled forward, staggering, raising the Sun Staff with every ounce of strength. He poured the last of his divine power into the staff.
Golden light erupted—brighter than the lightning, flooding the entire town. Even the Green Dragons blinked, momentarily stunned.
“Not… dead…” the ancient dragon snarled, turning.
In an instant, it lunged—its claw tearing through the Bishop’s chest. Blood sprayed. The old man’s body was flung aside like trash.
“No—!” Franz gasped, lunging forward—too late.
The other three dragons charged. He fought with every ounce of strength, barely defending. Claws tore at his armor. Acid burned through his flesh. More wounds.
Boom!
Panting, bloodied, Franz gritted his teeth—blocking another dive.
He knew—under the relentless assault of the dragon army, he wouldn’t last long. His guards would be slaughtered.
Was this the end?
Despair washed over him. Duke Franz felt the shadow of the Mother of Monsters looming overhead.
Then—
A distant, powerful voice rang out.
“Duke Franz! I’ve brought the Relief Forces! We fight beside you—side by side!”
(End of Chapter)
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