Chapter 783: The Fall of the Ancient Dragon
Upon hearing Charlotte’s command, the Guild members aboard the Magic Ship sprang into action, a cacophony of sounds erupting throughout the vessel.
“First Preparation—”
Mages hastily loaded vast quantities of Elemental Crystals into the Furnace, then poured in Liquid Fuel—crafted from the blood of dragons, giants, and other magical beasts. With the furnace valves thrown open, the crystals and fuel mixed violently, churning and grinding together. The resulting surge of magical energy was immense—so powerful it sent out a terrifying wave of Spell Reflection, emitting a pulse of raw, almost unbearable power.
The internal temperature of the Magic Ship soared instantly. Thick, roaring steam burst forth from the pipelines like a geyser.
“Second Preparation—”
Players activated the ship’s High-Order Energy Transfer Runes. The intricate carvings etched across the hull flared to life, glowing like pulsing veins of blood.
All energy converged at the barrel. Cracks of lightning sparked, deep roars echoed, and the air around the ship warped and twisted with overwhelming magical resonance.
“Third Preparation—”
The Domain leader raised his Staff. The barrel shifted with precision, its Tracking Charm locking onto the Ancient Green Dragon within the storm.
All accumulated energy funneled into the cannon’s maw. A dazzling, multi-colored Luminous Sphere formed—red, blue, and violet swirling together in a hypnotic, radiant storm. Electric arcs crackled, fire danced, and light particles exploded outward. The sphere’s energy surged uncontrollably, unleashing a vortex of pure power, a 100-meter-wide maelstrom of raw force.
“This super-heavy Elemental War Cannon’s never been used on a battlefield before—come on, fire it already!”
“This thing is awesome!”
“Charge! I wanna see the fireworks!”
The Domain leader donned his protective goggles and brought his Staff down with a decisive motion. A whispering Spell carried his voice across the entire ship.
“Fire!”
No sooner had the word left his lips than a sharp crack split the air—followed by a deafening roar that shook the sky. The ship trembled violently, and ripples of distortion rippled through the heavens.
Then—
The Luminous Sphere erupted.
A colossal, three-colored beam—fire, lightning, and blinding light—exploded from the cannon, a torrent of energy so dense it pierced the clouds. It shot toward the distant Ancient Green Dragon at terrifying speed.
Wherever the beam passed, everything was obliterated—trees, rock, air itself—reduced to ash and vapor. The surrounding space writhed with chaotic elemental energy, raw magic tearing through the fabric of reality.
This Heavy Cannon, the pinnacle of the Magic Coin Guild’s arcane technology, was now unleashing power rivaling a typical Ninth-Circle Evocation Spell—perhaps even exceeding it.
“Anselm, watch out!”
A cry rang out from the Green Dragon.
The Ancient Green Dragon, still mid-laugh, lifted his head and stared directly at the incoming beam. His expression shattered in an instant. Even his narrow, vertical pupils contracted to pinpricks of fear.
He flapped his wings frantically, twisting his massive body in a desperate attempt to evade. No trace of arrogance remained—only raw panic. His voice cracked as he muttered, “By Tiamat above… how can these lowly humans…”
He summoned a fierce Storm with his wings, gathering the wind into a thick, protective Wall. It was strong enough to rend apart any spell, arrow, or shell from afar.
But this time—
He was wrong.
The Super-Heavy Elemental War Cannon’s power exceeded even the Guild’s own estimates. It was far beyond anything he could have imagined.
Boom!
The beam struck like a molten blade. The Wind Wall shattered like paper, torn apart in an instant.
“No—!”
The Dragon roared in horror, twisting his monstrous frame with every ounce of strength, trying to flee. But he was trapped.
The cannon’s Tracking Charm and Divination Spell had already mapped his every movement. He was completely exposed—his path predicted, his escape foreseen.
As the beam closed in, he screamed in anguish:
“You dare harm me?! I am Tiamat’s favorite! I am—”
Boom!
The roar was cut short by a thunderous explosion that split the sky.
The beam struck dead center on his chest. Hidden within the gaps of his scales, a cascade of protective charms flared to life—shields of every color, each glowing with desperate magic. But they were useless.
In an instant—lightning tore through the air, flames engulfed the sky, and a ten-thousand-zhang beam of light exploded outward, painting the night in brilliant radiance.
At the epicenter, the Ancient Green Dragon was obliterated. The magical explosion consumed hundreds of meters around him, sending a shockwave rippling out for over a kilometer.
“Gods…”
“Amanata above!”
Dust roared across the earth. A fierce, scorching wind swept through the battlefield. Everyone instinctively looked up, stunned.
Even Mandrian and Duke Franz—still locked in battle with the Dragon—froze in place, eyes wide, mouths agape at the spectacle in the sky.
The Ancient Green Dragon, caught in the blinding light, became nearly transparent. One could see through his scales, his flesh, down to the bones beneath. His hardened scales were vaporized. His thick muscle burned away. His pulsing heart was shattered in an instant.
The beam pierced through his back, exiting with a gaping hole. Only a massive, hollow carcass remained.
“This… can’t be.”
Anselm slowly lowered his head, staring at the black, gaping wound in his chest.
His once-ugly, emerald face first contorted in disbelief—then twisted into a snarl of pure, unbridled hatred.
Born in the Ashen Marsh, he had lived for over eight centuries. In that time, he had enslaved and slaughtered countless humanoids—humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes. He relished the taste of elven maidens, calling them exquisite delicacies. He’d even eaten young gnomes as a rare treat.
And now—
He, a being of ancient power and pride, had been wounded by a race he considered beneath him.
Rage, fury, astonishment, and despair warred in his narrow eyes. But only seconds passed before his pupils dilated, his gaze faded.
Without his heart to fuel him, the Ancient Green Dragon lost all strength. His massive wings drooped lifelessly. His fearsome body plummeted from the sky, crashing into the earth with a thunderous crack.
Stone shattered. Dust exploded outward. The impact carved a massive crater, and the dragon’s body lay sprawled like a mountain, its spine broken, its blood gushing in a crimson river.
His great head lay twisted on the ground, eyes wide, still filled with the last flicker of defiance—of unbearable, unfulfilled rage.
Anselm was dead.
He had died at the hands of the very creatures he had despised, the very race he had treated as playthings.
“Amanata above!”
“What power… it’s like divine punishment!”
The surrounding soldiers erupted in exclamations, their voices rising in shock and awe.
Mandrian stood frozen, staring at the corpse, speechless. After a long pause, he muttered, “He… they killed an Ancient Green Dragon so easily?”
Duke Franz remained silent. Though he should have felt joy—after all, this was the monster who had slain so many of his comrades—he felt only a hollow, melancholy dread.
Finally, he spoke, voice heavy.
“Beware those from the North. We cannot fully trust them. The power they wield… it’s too terrifying.”
But then—
The mood shifted instantly.
Players surged forward like sharks sensing blood. With wild abandon, they charged toward the corpse, using Phantom Step, Anywhere Door, and other teleportation spells to close the distance.
“Grab the resources—hurry!”
“Don’t stand there! Strip the scales! This material can make armor that’s unbeatable!”
“The horns are ours! This could craft a rare-grade weapon—guaranteed drop, guaranteed rare!”
“Dragon blood and meat! Dig it up! The alchemy division will go wild!”
“Hmph. I’ll take this root. Watch me slice it clean from the ground—perfect for brewing!”
Even Stuffed Bun, still slaughtering enemies far away, suddenly spun around, its head snapping toward the corpse. It charged forward, determined to claim a claw and grind it into a rifle tip.
On the Magic Ship’s deck, Lucky Emperor gripped his telescope, pacing anxiously.
“Guild Leader! That Ancient Dragon was our prize—don’t let them steal it!”
Charlotte, however, stood calmly, Staff in hand, her expression serene.
“Hmph, Lucky Emperor. You’re still too young. You underestimate our Guild. Did you really think we didn’t prepare?”
Lucky Emperor tilted his head, confused.
“But… we didn’t send anyone to claim it.”
“Do we even need to?”
Charlotte adjusted her golden-rimmed glasses, a confident smirk on her lips.
“The fall direction, timing, position—everything was calculated. I controlled it.”
A faint blue ripple shimmered across her lenses—evidence of a Divination Spell.
“What… does that mean?”
Lucky Emperor was even more puzzled—until Charlotte snapped her fingers.
At the ship’s peak, Mingyue reacted instantly. She raised her Staff, activating the ship’s Large-Scale Teleportation Array.
From beneath the corpse of the Ancient Green Dragon, a surge of blue light erupted. A massive, intricate Rune Array materialized beneath it, tearing through space with violent spatial ripples.
In the next instant—
The mountain-sized corpse vanished.
Only the steaming dragon blood remained, pooling across the ground.
Hundreds of charging players slammed into empty air. One Dragon Rider crashed hard into the earth, dazed, nearly unconscious.
“What the hell? Where’s the giant corpse?!”
“Where’d it go?!”
“Look at the Magic Ship!”
Everyone turned. There, on the deck, stood the massive dragon—now fully materialized. Magic Coin players swarmed around it, ecstatic, collecting every scrap of loot.
Lucky Emperor stood frozen, mouth agape. After a long moment, he raised a thumb toward Charlotte.
“Guild Leader—legendary!”
Charlotte glanced at her watch.
“Free Material Collection—three minutes. Time’s up. Everything left belongs to the Guild.”
Lucky Emperor roared and charged forward, diving into the loot with his allies.
“Rip-off!”
“They won’t even give us a drop of broth—those scum!”
The ground players screamed curses, furious at being left out.
But some sharp-eyed mages used the chaos to their advantage—quietly casting spells to siphon the last traces of precious Ancient Dragon blood from the ground.
By the time the angry players realized what had happened, it was too late.
The blood was gone—completely purged. Not a single drop remained. If not for the massive, gaping pit in the earth, one might’ve thought no dragon had ever fallen here.
“Since we can’t take the dragon… let’s take its young instead!”
“Annihilate them!”
“Damn it, I want dragon resources too!”
Players panted, eyes bloodshot, turning toward the remaining Green Dragons. Their gaze—hungry, predatory—was like that of wolves sighting prey.
“Anselm is dead! He was killed by humans!”
“Those weapons—they’re cursed! From some damned god! We can’t win! Run! Now!”
“Madmen! They’re all madmen! By Tiamat, they must be possessed by a dark god!”
The surviving Green Dragons screamed in terror, fleeing in panic. They flapped their wings with all their might, abandoning all dignity, fleeing southward like hunted beasts.
For centuries, they had ravaged the Ashen Marsh, burning, killing, looting—treating humans, dwarves, and elves as toys.
But they had never seen this.
These humans—unafraid of death, arrogant beyond reason, treating them like prey. One shot had killed Anselm, the mightiest among them. No defense. No escape. It was impossible.
And now, the players behind them—chanting incomprehensible slogans like “Blood Sacrifice to the Blood God!” and “Tata Kai!”—their faces twisted in frenzy, chasing them like demons.
They felt something they had never known before: pure, unrelenting fear.
By Tiamat… were humans really this weak?
No. This was not weakness.
This was a horde of monsters wearing human skin.
And the weapons—those cannons, so fast, so deadly—could kill the strongest of them in a single shot.
If they couldn’t fight, they could at least run.
That was the thought in every dragon’s mind. And so they ran—desperately, desperately.
But soon—
A roar split the air behind them.
A small Mechanical Divinity spaceship, trailing brilliant flame, tore through the sky at breakneck speed.
Mounted on its underbelly, armored two-legged flying dragons activated their propulsion units, accelerating with a thunderous roar. They shot past the fleeing dragons like missiles.
“How?!”
“How can they move so fast?!”
The dragons turned in disbelief—only to see their formation collapse. Chaos erupted. Roars of panic echoed through the sky.
From the spaceship’s barrel, a dozen massive metal spheres launched. In midair, they unfolded—unraveling into vast, crackling nets of electric arcs.
—Imperial Net Cannon, designed for large flying beasts.
“Aaargh!”
Unprepared, the dragons were caught. They were paralyzed by the electric current, unable to move, their wings useless.
Despite their desperate struggles, they fell—howling, writhing—toward the earth.
And on the ground, waiting for them, stood a sea of players—eyes alight with euphoria, faces glowing with greed.
(End of Chapter)
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