Chapter 798: Lord of the Putrid Marsh
Franz and Adrian both bore deep, blood-soaked hatred toward Ulrichia. This ancient Green Dragon had been the chief architect behind The Mad Green Cataclysm in Northwestern Seleucus—a merciless scourge that had laid waste to countless humans through legions of dragons and dragon beasts. Among the countless lives lost were Franz’s fallen comrades and Adrian’s entire people from his homeland.
Now, face to face with her, the hatred flared like wildfire. Franz and Adrian locked eyes with the beast, their gazes burning with murderous intent—each one wishing to shred her into a thousand pieces.
Adrian raised his Longsword high, the blade pointing like a lance at the ancient dragon. His voice rang out, proud and unyielding:
“Ulrichia, surrender. Today is your death. And today, we reclaim Linying City!”
Duke Franz stepped forward, his voice steady and thunderous:
“Evil Dragon, your crimes have enraged the gods. Your wicked cult will fall.”
Misha tilted her chin slightly, her posture dripping with arrogance:
“Green Dragon, I come under the direct command of the mighty Emperor Kai Xiusu of the Ember Empire. I am here to end you.”
Ulrichia let out a cold, mocking laugh.
“So, you’re just the cowardly remnants of my defeated subordinates—running from your fiefdoms like traitors. You think clinging to the coattails of that Red Dragon makes you worthy to oppose the Dragon Worship Church? To stand against Queen Tiamat?”
Her voice rose, filled with fury and scorn, then transformed into a thunderous roar that shook the heavens:
“Foolish fantasy! Even if the Material Realm wields great power, it cannot withstand true divinity!”
Her eyes flashed, sharp with cunning.
“And even if you conquer Linying City, do you truly believe the Empire will ever give up what they’ve taken? You think the Ashen Empire is some noble force of justice? They rose from war flames, built on invasion and plunder—just like us. There’s no difference.”
“Enough!” Misha’s voice cracked like lightning.
Her eyes flared with blinding flame-light. Instantly, countless meteors streaked across the sky, trailing fiery arcs like falling stars. They descended in a torrential storm—Meteor Storm!
“Damned Red Dragon sorcerer!” Ulrichia bellowed, spreading her vast dragon wings. A storm of corrosive armor-class energy erupted, a maelstrom of black, scalding winds.
Swish—
The fire of the meteors vanished instantly. The meteorites cracked, eroded, shriveled—reduced to ash before they could strike.
But then—Adrian spread his golden wings and launched into the sky. He raised his Longsword high, channeling radiant light that blazed like the sun itself. With a cry, he plunged from the left flank, unleashing a divine slash—Divine Supremacy Slash!
A beam of solar light pierced through the phantom image of the five-headed dragon, tore through the churning black mist, and descended like a divine punishment upon the ancient Green Dragon’s head.
Ulrichia flinched, startled. She raised her wings—thick membranes etched with sinister runes—shielding herself. The runes pulsed with dark, malevolent energy.
Boom!
Black and gold clashed in a cataclysmic wave of energy.
“Evil Dragon, die!” Adrian brought down his sword, cleaving through the wing membrane with a deafening crack. A gash, several meters long, tore open the flesh, spilling thick, crimson dragon blood.
But Ulrichia roared—a sound of fury and pain—and flung her wings wide. The resulting blast hurled Adrian backward, slamming him into the air hundreds of meters away. His armor shattered into fragments. Internal organs churned. Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Ulrichia raised her Scepter, pointing it at Adrian in midair, and began chanting in the ancient Dragon Tongue.
“Calius’s Light of Death!”
A jagged beam of chaotic, glowing light erupted from the Scepter—spikes of sound, screams, and wailing echoes trailing behind it—racing toward Adrian.
Adrian clenched his sword, roaring. He poured every ounce of Sun God’s power into his body. Before him, a massive, spinning disc of pure sunlight materialized—Eternal Radiance Shield!
The beam collided with the disc. Light and darkness, good and evil, twisted together in a spiraling vortex of spell energy—threatening to swallow everything around them.
“For Fadalan!”
From the dragon’s right wing, Franz launched himself from the earth, leaping over a hundred meters into the air. His massive sword—over five meters long—swung with unstoppable force, aiming to cleave through Ulrichia’s skull.
The Greatsword carried an aura so overwhelming, it defied defense. The wind howled as it descended—on target.
But Ulrichia turned her head. She opened her maw—gaping, blood-filled—and unleashed a torrent of dark, suffocating mist, a poisonous breath accumulated over centuries.
Franz’s armor flared with protective runes, but they lasted only a heartbeat. The poison tore through them like paper. His heavy armor crumpled, cracked, and collapsed.
Toxic fog poured over him. Even as a legendary warrior, his body could not resist. His face turned purple. Veins bulged. Skin peeled away, revealing raw, bleeding flesh. The sight was horrific.
Yet Franz did not falter. He plunged forward through the poison, executing a jump-cut strike. Though Ulrichia dodged, the blade still bit deep into her shoulder.
“Arooo—!”
Scales shattered. Blood sprayed in a geyser. The sword carved a wound several feet deep, cutting through muscle and bone, the warm dragon blood flowing like a river.
Franz grinned—a ghastly, triumphant smile.
“Ulrichia… I’ve dreamed of this moment a thousand times. I’ve dreamed of returning to this city, of beheading you—ending the disaster that never came.”
His voice hardened.
“Today… I fulfill that expired wish.”
With a roar that shook the sky, Franz strained every fiber of his being. Blood sprayed from his muscles as he tore the Greatsword free from the dragon’s shoulder.
“Die!”
He leapt to her back, gripping her horns with one hand, swinging the sword with the other. The blade screamed through the air.
“Foolish human…”
Feeling the threat to her life force, the ancient dragon fought back with everything she had. She twisted violently, spreading her wounded wings. The runes across her body flared again—pulsing with dark, distorting power. The phantom image of the five-headed dragon in the sky seemed to bow slightly, its gaze fixed on her.
Tiamat’s Protection!
From the distance, a roar echoed—a sound from the depths of time. A chaotic black light exploded from Ulrichia, engulfing the surroundings. Duke Franz was thrown backward like a ragdoll, blasted through the air.
The force shattered his left arm—obliterated it into a storm of bloody petals. The Greatsword tumbled from the sky, plunging deep into the ground, splitting the earth with a massive crack.
Franz fell, his body broken, bones shattered, bloodied beyond recognition. He was near death.
“Lord Duke!” Adrian screamed, struggling to break free from the dark rings that bound him. He flared his wings, racing toward Franz—but too late.
Ulrichia laughed, a cruel, triumphant sound. She lowered her head, mocking.
“How does it feel, human? Facing death? Isn’t it… exquisite?”
Franz was no longer human. He was a mass of shattered flesh, his lower half crushed. Yet on his face—no pain. Only calm.
“Evil Dragon… you’ll soon… taste the same.” His voice was weak, broken. A faint smile touched his lips.
Ulrichia narrowed her eyes—unease flickered.
“What? What trick is this?”
Swish—
From the ground, a hundred-meter-wide Rune Array rose—ancient, complex, pulsing with arcane energy. The air hummed with forgotten voices. From within the array, a monstrous dragon shadow emerged—howling, roaring, its chains tearing through the soil in thousands.
Dozens of magical chains shot out, binding Ulrichia. Her power was locked. Her movements paralyzed. She was now no different than a beast caught in a trap.
She felt the forbidden strength, the weight of ancient magic. Her eyes widened in horror.
“Dragon-Binding Array… This age still holds such a formation?!”
“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing wildly—but the chains held fast. Her body trembled under the weight of the forbidden power.
Far away, Misha hovered in the sky, her expression cold and detached. In her slender hand, a single chain pulsed—its other end connected to a tiny green dragon shadow, struggling desperately.
Misha was the master of the Rune Array.
Franz had made a pact with her—his life as bait, her victory as the price. A fair trade.
“Green Dragon,” Misha said, voice calm, icy, as if speaking of the weather, “cease your struggle. It is meaningless. I shall grant you a merciful end. This is the Master’s gift.”
Ulrichia howled in fury.
“Madman! Your Emperor is a madman! To dare touch the forbidden power forged by the Ancient Elves… do you not fear becoming the enemy of all dragonkind?!”
Misha’s voice turned colder, edged with rage.
“Remember—no race, no power, has the right to contain the Master.”
She raised her hand.
“Begin.”
“Damned Empire fools! What are you planning? Do you even know what you’re facing? Can you bear the wrath of the Dragon Queen?!”
Misha’s eyes glowed.
“I have one faith… the great Emperor of the Ashen Flame.”
Before she finished speaking, the sky above Linying City rippled. Reality cracked. From the heavens, dozens of massive, hundred-meter-long skyborne battleships emerged—casting colossal shadows over the city.
“Preparation Firing!”
Cannons—black, gaping maws—locked onto the ancient dragon. Energy built up, blinding in its brilliance. The air shimmered with solar intensity.
“Fire!”
Boom!
A thunderous roar split the sky. A thousand cannons fired in unison. Hundreds of light beams—like divine spears—crashed into the Green Dragon in a storm of annihilation.
All-Consuming Explosion.
Flames streaked across the sky, a blazing trail of destruction. Dust clouds rose to the heavens. Sand turned to glass, melted by the heat.
When the smoke cleared, only a vast, crater-like pit remained—hundreds of meters across. At its center, a mangled, red-green silhouette—Ulrichia—lay broken.
The once-proud ancient dragon was now a wreck—wings burned, tail charred, her body barely holding together. Her chest bore a massive hole, where her heart had been reduced to ash. Her soul was gone.
And Duke Franz? His body had been turned to ash. No trace remained.
But his wish—to kill Ulrichia—was fulfilled.
In the ruins of ash and fire, Ulrichia lifted her skull-like head, raised her Dragonhead Scepter, and with her last breath, roared:
“Father—”
“Linying City—Altar—”
Misha’s face paled. Her voice snapped with urgency.
“Quick! Complete her destruction! Do not let her summon the Primordial Dragon!”
Too late.
The Scepter’s eye flared with a dark green light—shooting straight into the sky, toward the Northern Marsh Forest.
From afar, a long, mournful, furious roar echoed—a sound from the dawn of time. It stirred primal fear in the soul.
Ravens fled in terror. Thunder boomed. Churning black clouds spread, swallowing half the sky. A cold wind swept from the north, carrying mist and decay.
Then—rain fell. Not water. Corrosive, acid-laced rain. It ate into the earth, leaving pits and scars. And beneath the downpour—wails. Not of men. Not of beasts. Something older.
Misha stared into the storm. Her expression grave.
“Lord of the Putrid Marsh… Erebus.”
(End of Chapter)
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