https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-800-Confrontation-Between-Ancestral-Dragons/13677722/
Chapter 799: Red and Green
The distant wind, thunder, and rain交织成一片混沌, yet this battlefield had fallen into an eerie silence. Men from the Empire, Seleucus, and the Dragon-Worshiping Church—Humans, Dwarves, Dragonborn alike—lifted their heads, staring toward the thick, oppressive clouds looming on the horizon. Even the authentic Green Dragons strained their necks, eyes burning with eager, reverent anticipation.
For most Green Dragons, Lord of the Putrid Marsh was nothing short of a living legend. Few had ever laid eyes on the Primordial Green Dragon; his name was whispered in hushed awe, a tale of ancient terror passed down through generations. The Cultists of the Dragon-Worshiping Church fell to their knees in devout reverence, chanting the dragon’s name and title with ecstatic fervor, their voices dripping with praise as if beholding an emissary of the divine.
“Lord of the Putrid Marsh!”
“Ah, Sovereign of the Mire Crown, shadow-born ruler of decay!”
“Your scales gleam like poisonous mushrooms, your breath a sweet lie that chokes the ignorant in vines, crushing mortal crowns into mud!”
Human forces, however, were tense beyond measure. Sweat poured down their brows and backs, their breaths sharp and urgent. Even seasoned veterans—men who had crawled from blood-soaked battlefields, who had fought through the corpses of Dragon Beasts—shook uncontrollably.
“Is it really him… Lord of the Putrid Marsh?”
“By Amanata!”
“Could he… could he be reviving that massacre again?”
Lord of the Putrid Marsh, Emerald-Scaled Poison Miasma, Jade Tyrant, one of Tiamat’s most beloved offspring, and chief of the Green Dragon Sect within the Dragon-Worshiping Church. Three years prior, the last Divine-Blooded Nobles of Seleucus had thrown everything into motion, summoning an army of nearly three hundred thousand from across realms. That force was a mosaic of races—Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Angels, even Metal Dragons—backed by tens of thousands of Paladins, Mages, and other professionals.
The Allied Forces raised the banner of “Destroy the Dragon-Worshiping Church, Restore Seleucus”, and over a hundred thousand signed blood oaths. They prepared for a final, life-or-death clash on the Sunset Plain.
But on that fateful day, the sky turned black beneath a suffocating storm. Corrosive rain lashed the earth, and from the heavens, Erebus, Primordial Green Dragon and commander of the Evil Dragon Legion, descended.
No one can truly describe what happened that day. All they know is that seven days and seven nights of blood war followed—rivers of crimson flowing like rivers of death. The entire Allied Army was nearly annihilated. Those few who escaped were broken, their minds shattered, lost to madness.
And ever since, whenever the name Erebus is spoken, survivors tremble, curl into balls on the ground, eyes shut tight, faces pale as ghosts—too terrified to utter a single word.
This war became known in Feanso’s history as the Sunset Tragedy, marking the irreversible fall of the Kingdom of Seleucus and the loss of its last vestiges of strength.
From that day on, the Sunset Plain ceased to exist. In its place rose a dark, damp swamp, veiled in perpetual mist—now known as the Ashen Marsh.
Legends say this swamp is piled high with bones. Nightly, mournful cries echo through the fog—ghostly voices of fallen Allied soldiers, forever wandering, trapped in the mist.
After the war, the Ashen Marsh became the sacred domain of the Primordial Green Dragon. The Green Dragon Sect of the Dragon-Worshiping Church established its holy site here. And Erebus earned a name he now wears with pride: Lord of the Putrid Marsh.
As cold, biting winds swept across the battlefield, the dark clouds advanced swiftly, casting vast shadows overhead. Every Seleucus and Empire soldier stood on high alert. Even the massive Aerospace Warships activated their emergency shields, ready for combat.
An invisible pressure approached, growing stronger with each passing second. A blizzard-force wind roared in, sending a shiver through every soul present. Spirits trembled, hearts froze.
Then—sky began to warp.
The dark clouds churned like a festering wound. Thunder no longer roared—it growled, a deep, ravenous hunger from some ancient beast. The forest fell silent, lifeless. Even the wind was frozen in mid-air.
And then… he descended.
From within the storm, a single, thorn-like claw and crown emerged—fearsome, jagged, unmistakably draconic. Then, the colossal emerald form tore through the clouds. His wings unfurled, whipping up a storm of decay. Rotting leaves and ash swirled around him like a halo of death.
His shadow fell upon the earth, and vegetation withered instantly. Even nature itself seemed to bow before his presence.
He landed slowly, claws sinking deep into the soil. Toxins dripped from his fangs, sizzling as they struck the ground.
“Insects…”
The voice was like snapping dry branches, like a serpent slithering across the ear. “You have disturbed my deep slumber. Have you prepared to face your fear?”
“God…!”
“Great Eternal Lord of Light! What is this?! How can such a monster exist in this world?!”
“Emperor of the Ashen Flame, help us! That Green Dragon is terrifying!”
Under the overwhelming aura of intimidation, the battlefield’s soldiers turned toward the horizon, eyes wide with terror, astonishment, and panic. Prayers spilled from their lips like a desperate prayer.
There, within the churning clouds, stood a Green Dragon—towering over the forest, at least forty-five meters from snout to tail. Far beyond the limits of any ordinary Green Dragon, he looked like a nightmare pulled from a minstrel’s darkest tale.
His body, as large as a hill, was armored in dark green scales, each one a poisoned dagger, gleaming with a sickly luminescence in the dim light. Twisted vines and thorns wrapped around his spine, as if the earth itself had tried to bind him in fear—but instead, they became his ornament.
When his wings unfurled, their shadow swallowed entire forests. Veins pulsed across the membrane like cursed runes, throbbing with each breath.
But the most terrifying aspect—was his eyes.
Narrow, vertical pupils, cold and calculating, like two toxic swamps churning with greed and cunning. Deep within their cores, a faint, eerie green light flickered—light that seemed to pierce the soul, stripping away all pretense. To gaze into them was to feel your willpower dissolving, as if some ancient, malevolent force were slowly chewing through your very essence.
Wherever his gaze fell, the air grew thick, suffocating—like breathing in a toxic fog. Even breathing became agony.
Tiamat’s Eyes.
Even the bravest warrior, the most resolute soul, could not endure more than three seconds under that stare. Most would either collapse unconscious—or fall under the sway of the dark dragon’s will, becoming puppets of his obsession.
“God… this… is the Lord of the Putrid Marsh from legend?”
“This is terrifying!”
“No… no, we can’t defeat this enemy! Help! I’m getting out of here!”
“Dragon Invincible! Tiamat Long Live!”
In mere seconds of his arrival, Erebus had not even moved—yet the Human army’s morale shattered. Soldiers fled in panic, some even mutinied on the spot.
Empire players, though lacking spiritual souls and thus immune to direct control, still suffered. Many collapsed instantly, their screens going black.
Meanwhile, the Cultists of the Dragon-Worshiping Church grew wilder in their worship, their hymns rising in frenzied ecstasy.
“Teach us to whisper with toxin! Teach us to sow faith with plague! Let every living being kneel before you, trembling beneath your divine gaze!”
High above, a fleet of Aerospace Warships aimed their cannons. Thick beams of light erupted in a torrent, crisscrossing the sky like a net of death. They lanced toward the towering Green Dragon standing in the forest.
“Boom!”
The explosion was deafening. Dust and fire erupted skyward, nearly engulfing the forest.
Onlookers in the distance whispered in shock.
“Is he dead?”
“That’s an Elemental Heavy Cannon—capable of destroying an Ancient Green Dragon in one shot! Even a Primordial Dragon should be crippled or dead!”
“No… judging by the Smoke-Without-Injury Law, that Green Dragon might not even be scratched.”
“Hmph. Firepower is justice. Caliber is truth! If it doesn’t work, just fire harder!”
Then—within the dust cloud—a strange sound echoed. The massive green form lifted its wings, unleashing a hurricane-force gust. It soared into the sky, circling within the dense dark clouds.
Through the storm, Erebus’s body remained unscathed—his scales still glowing with that unnatural, sickly gleam.
He tilted his head calmly, looking down at the warships with faint mockery.
“So… this is your strength?”
A slow, deliberate smile spread across his maw. With deliberate grace, he extended his massive claw, the tip gleaming with an eerie light.
“This… is useless before the offspring of the Five-Colored Dragon Queen.”
“Boom—”
Five beams of eerie green light shot forth. They crossed thousands of meters in an instant, pierced through multiple shields, melted through armor stronger than steel, and pierced the warships like paper.
One strike.
Dozens of Aerospace Warships were obliterated mid-flight. Explosions tore through the sky, their wreckage—burning, smoking—plummeted toward the earth, triggering chain reactions of even greater explosions.
In the scorching heat wave, players screamed in panic:
“Holy crap—one shot? And multiple ships?”
“That’s hundreds of thousands of Golden Nael!”
“They said those warships could withstand Ninth-Ring Level arcane blasts! How could they be destroyed so easily?”
“Running. I’m getting out before I die!”
A Mage player attempted to activate a Teleportation Scroll—but discovered the space around him was sealed by an unknown force. No teleportation could break through.
Within the storm, Erebus spread his wings, voice colder than ice:
“You destroyed my altar. You shattered my city. You killed my offspring. And now you think you can run?”
“I will sacrifice your flesh and soul to the great Queen Tiamat, to soothe her wrath. All who fought in this war—you will all die!”
With a thunderous roar, a wave of black clouds surged across the land, rolling in like a tidal flood from all sides, encircling the city.
Thick, foul-smelling mud surged from the ground, spreading at terrifying speed. Waves of several meters rose, stretching for kilometers, as if the earth itself were swallowing everything whole.
Those Humans on the outskirts who touched the mud dissolved instantly—flesh sizzling, bones exposed in seconds.
Wherever it passed, the land was poisoned, transformed into a swamp of toxic dampness.
“Game over… This is a Plot Kill quest?”
“Can’t believe my first death is going to be here… I’m not ready!”
“Dog Designer! Is this quest balance even reasonable?”
Players screamed in agony, helpless against a fate that seemed inevitable.
The Human and Dwarf soldiers who had once served Duke Franz had already lost all hope. Their eyes were hollow, their gaze dull. The frontline was silent, dead, broken.
At last, they understood—why the Sunset Tragedy had happened. Why 300,000 men had vanished in a single night, reduced to bones.
Looking up at the towering Primordial Green Dragon, high in the sky, radiating terrifying power, Adrian let out a bitter laugh.
“Misha, leave now. This war… we’ve already lost.”
But Misha shook her head, her expression unyielding.
“No. We haven’t lost yet.”
Adrian turned sharply toward her, the Dragon-Human Mage.
Before he could speak, Misha rose slowly into the air, hovering mid-way. Her eyes were closed. Her long crimson hair streamed behind her like a banner, caught in the wind. Then—her broad Dragon wings unfurled with a thunderous whoosh.
“Powerful Monarch of the Northern Lands, Dragon of Cataclysm, Supreme Emperor of Ember…”
“I, your humble Pact-Servant, now call upon your presence!”
“Swoosh—”
Her eyes snapped open. The narrow, golden-tinged vertical pupils blazed with a fiery light—flames flickering at their edges, leaping like tongues of fire.
Her gaze seemed to shatter the fabric of space itself, piercing through dimensions, reaching across time and eternity to touch that immense, ancient existence.
“Roar—”
A distant, echoing roar answered.
Adrian and the allies stared in shock. Their eyes widened with awe, disbelief, and a flicker of desperate hope. For the first time in ages, they saw a chance—a last chance.
Even Erebus, high above, narrowed his eyes. A flicker of unease passed across his draconic face. The mocking calm vanished.
“That energy…?”
“Crack!”
The sky split open—massive fractures tearing through the heavens, as if a giant a hundred meters tall had shattered the sealed realm from within.
Then, torrents of fire poured from the rifts, consuming the air around them.
“Wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww—!”
A piercing, soul-rending scream tore through the sky—sharp enough to sever space itself.
A colossal crack bloomed in the air, its edges blazing with crimson light—like the gates of Hellfire Forge being forced open.
The fabric of space groaned under the strain. Fine black cracks spread like spiderwebs from the rift, signaling the descent of something unthinkable.
Then—it emerged.
A single, monstrous claw, thick as five pillars, curled forward, armored in ancient, heavy scales. From its tip, heat radiated in waves, distorting the air. The very atmosphere near it boiled, screaming—like being thrown into an invisible furnace. Each breath carried the stench of sulfur and rust.
Even the slightest tightening of the claw sent tremors through the fabric of reality, as if the world itself held its breath, trembling in anticipation.
And Erebus—the Lord of the Putrid Marsh—stared up at the crimson claw descending from beyond space, his face pale.
“By Tiamat…”
(End of Chapter)
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