Chapter 816: The Prelude to War
Under the gazes of countless Descendants of the Blue Dragon—filled with awe, dread, or reverence—the Ancient Blue Dragon lifted the wreckage of a Magitech Warship high into the air. Behind her, storm clouds churned violently, and blinding lightning crackled like a living storm.
“Do you see this? Children of the Dragon—this is the fate of those who oppose the Dragon Worship Church, who defy the Great Five-Colored Dragon Queen!”
She raised her head, her colossal horns gleaming with a metallic sheen under the flash of lightning. Electric arcs danced across her spine, sparks erupting like molten fire with every strike.
“Remember—you are beings of noble bloodline. You will rule this world alongside the Dragon! Any existence that dares betray the Dragon Queen will meet only one end—”
“Boom!”
A deafening roar split the sky. Thunderclouds roared, howling, as countless jagged bolts of lightning poured down like a tidal wave, instantly engulfing the charred, broken warship.
In the raw, brutal, and utterly devastating face of power, the Empire’s specially treated insulating wood—meant to resist magic—crumbled like fragile paper, instantly blackened, carbonized, and reduced to ash.
“That… is destruction.”
Only then did the Ancient Blue Dragon speak, her voice cold, heavy, and merciless.
At that moment, thunderbolts surged behind her, dark clouds writhed at her sides, and every electric arc, every spark in the air seemed to answer her call, frenzied beyond control—like a horde of wild beasts unleashed.
At the storm’s heart, the Ancient Blue Dragon slowly unfurled her wings. A gale roared forth with each sweep, and her overwhelming Dragon aura surged across the earth, pressing down with an unbearable weight.
It was said that among Blue Dragons, the most terrifying being was known as the “Storm Dragon.” But for this Ancient Blue Dragon, even that title was too small, too weak to capture her true horror.
On the back of a Storm Dragon, an evil Dragon Priest raised his arms, screaming in frenzied ecstasy:
“Praise the Master of Thunderbolts and Sandstorms—the Monarch of Great Tower Liro, the eldest daughter of Tiamat—Gorazdra!”
“Before the might of a Dragon crushing dry stalks, these rebels are nothing—mere dust, soon to be ground into nothing!”
“Aaargh!”
Countless Descendants of the Blue Dragon and Half-Dragon Beasts lifted their heads, roaring in unison—a chaotic, thunderous chorus of cheers for their shared master: the Thunder Tyrant, Gorazdra.
Their cries shook the desert. Dunes collapsed. Wind swept up vast clouds of sand, forming a swirling dust storm that blanketed the earth.
Indeed, within the Dragon Worship Church, many faithful already revered Kazul, Erebus, and Gorazdra as deities—building temples, erecting altars, crafting divine statues. These three were known as the “Triad of Colors.”
According to their legends, when the three gods gather, Tiamat will manifest in her true, colossal form upon the mortal plane, ending the decaying Third Era and ushering in a new age—where Dragons and their offspring rule the world.
At the storm’s center, high above the earth, Gorazdra gazed northward. Her eyes, deep and endless, pulsed with countless tiny electric arcs.
Across the endless yellow sands, over a distance of thousands of kilometers, she saw clearly the army of the Empire of Ashen—its towering weapons, its armored warriors, its imposing war machines.
“The Empire of Ashen. How bold of you, reckless Homefolk, to defy His Majesty’s decree.”
“But soon, you will become the final stepping stone upon which I ascend to my Divine Position. Consider it an honor, Kai Xiusu.”
Her voice was cold, crackling with electric energy.
Beneath her, more and more Descendants of the Blue Dragon emerged from the sand—forming a deep-blue flood, surging like waves across the desert. Their scales glowed with radiant brilliance under the blinding lightning.
Though the Players had destroyed a nesting ground, killing hundreds—if not thousands—of these brutal creatures, the vast, endless Taliro Great Desert remained riddled with hidden nests. Beneath the sands, in caves and hidden crevices, countless heretical monsters bred in secret, their bloodline tainted by forbidden dragon magic.
This entire desert, indeed the whole Kingdom of Seleucus, had long been the domain of the Five-Colored Dragon and its monstrous minions—so thoroughly infiltrated that no corner remained untouched.
Not only had the ruins of ancient palaces been submerged beneath a sea of Blue Dragon descendants, but the northern Irl River Valley and the southern Sunset Gobi were also swarming with blue-scaled monsters emerging from the ground and caves.
Like puppets drawn by an unseen string, they converged without hesitation, marching north toward Tower Liro. They devoured everything in their path—vegetation, cacti, even the remains of animals—leaving behind only barren, lifeless yellow sand.
Now, every descendant of the Blue Dragon across the great desert poured forth toward the designated battlefield: the Lock Great Rift.
And on the northern side of the rift, atop the central highlands of Seleucus, the Allied Forces had gathered—banners flying, morale high, their vast army nearly consuming the entire plateau.
The largest contingent was undoubtedly the soldiers of the Empire of Ashen—nearly 200,000 strong. Trained, disciplined, fully armed, they had marched south from the Thrace Region, bringing with them the familiar rhythm of war.
They were heroes—rescuers of the Seleucus people, the backbone of this war.
From a god’s-eye view, without the Empire’s intervention, the Allied Forces would have endured years of slaughter and resistance before even matching the Dragon Worship Cult’s strength.
And unlike Kai Xiusu, who knew history, many Seleucus citizens believed that without the Empire’s aid, they would have been utterly annihilated in the Battle of Green Valley Town.
“Friends—war is upon us!”
Among the tightly packed military formations, officers of Red Dragon bloodline stood atop high ground, waving their gleaming swords, their aura radiating power as they roared:
“Remember—you are warriors of King Kai Xiusu! No enemy on this continent has ever withstood our offense!”
“Glory, wealth, strength—all await you on the battlefield. Tear apart the damned followers of Tiamat, and you shall have all you desire!”
“For the Empire! For Emperor Kai Xiusu!”
The Imperial soldiers raised their weapons high, their cries echoing like crashing waves across the highlands—passionate, electrifying, stirring the soul.
Beyond the Empire’s army, the second-largest force consisted of Seleucus’ native soldiers—about 120,000 in number, many of them Paladins and Warriors.
These were survivors of the Dragon’s devastation—people who had fled their homes, wandered in despair, and were eventually gathered by Duke Adrian.
Many had lost their families, their friends, and carried deep-seated hatred for the Dragon Worship Church, the heretical dragons, and their minions. Yet some bore psychological scars, haunted by trauma that would never fully heal.
Adrian stood at the peak of the hill, gripping his sword, the heavy blade of Duke Franz strapped across his back. His voice was heavy, resolute:
“Their families, their comrades—they are watching us. How can we allow these filthy cultists to defile our homeland? To ravage the land that belongs to the people of Fadalan?”
“We must defeat the Dragon Worship Church at all costs. Let the light of freedom shine anew upon Seleucus. Let Sacred Fedran rise once more in glory!”
“I promised Duke Franz I’d bring his body home—to the City of Dusk. I will return with him, and with you, to our homeland.”
Before he finished speaking, Adrian raised his longsword. Light converged at its tip, forming a brilliant luminous sphere, within which the seal of Seleucus gleamed.
“For Seleucus! For Sacred Fedran!”
“Home! Home!” The soldiers roared back, their voices trembling with emotion, some cracked with raw, desperate cries.
They had been away from their land for years—wandering, fleeing, hunted by Dragonborn and monsters. In that tense, dangerous existence, many had grown accustomed to the chaos, forgetting what peace truly felt like.
Now, hearing Adrian’s words, memories flooded back—their lost families, their lost friends, the beauty of their homeland. The emotions surged, overwhelming, impossible to contain.
Though the Seleucus soldiers were numerous, their battlefield impact—though significant—was still outmatched by the army of the Metal Dragon Race.
Under Bahamut’s command, over a hundred Metal Dragons had gathered here. Beyond the common Gold, Silver, and Copper Dragons, rare Iron Dragons and Tungsten Dragons—of hostile colors—had also joined.
Never before in thousands of years had the Feiansuo Continent witnessed such a grand gathering of Metal Dragons.
Their metallic scales shimmered under the sunlight as they flapped their wings, unleashing gusts of wind and letting out powerful, echoing roars. The reflected light was so intense it blinded the onlookers.
The commander of this force, an envoy of Bahamut, the Ancient Gold Dragon Dionysius, soared into the sky. He spread his vast wings, then extended a claw, revealing a holy scale from the Platinum Dragon King—a pale, sacred glow emanating from it.
The Ancient Gold Dragon spoke, his voice calm and steady:
“Kin, this is the will of King Bahamut. We must stand firmly with the Allied Forces and defeat the Dragon Worship Church. But even without this decree, we must act. It is the sacred duty of every Metal Dragon.”
He paused, then lifted his head, his voice rising with fire:
“Do you wish to see the Mother of Monsters descend upon the mortal plane? To watch her and her offspring ravage the earth, destroy justice and order?”
“Do you wish to stand helplessly as glorious cities burn to ash in Dragonfire? As civilizations fall? As countless innocent lives scream beneath the shadow of Dragon wings?”
“No!”
“Drive the Five-Colored Sinister Dragons from Feiansuo! From the Material Plane!”
“Those who bear tainted blood—deserve nothing but to join their Mother God in the eternal depths of Baator Hell!”
The Metal Dragons erupted in fury, roaring in unison, their wrath as fierce as the Five-Colored Sinister Dragons—perhaps even more so. Among them, the most revered was the righteous and altruistic Gold Dragon.
Legend says one adult Golden Dragon, in a fit of rage, utterly destroyed a cult-occupied town, reducing it to a smoldering ruin.
Dionysius surveyed the battlefield, his voice soft yet firm:
“We Metal Dragons are born with great strength. But that strength is not for show. It is for responsibility—greater than any other being. We must protect this world from falling into the hands of villains like Tiamat.”
“For justice!”
“Return to Hell!”
With a single motion, the Metal Dragons surged into the sky, letting out a thunderous roar toward the opposite side of the great rift—so terrifying that even the Five-Colored Dragons trembled.
The Empire Army, the Seleucus native forces, and the Metal Dragon Army stood as the undeniable core of the war. But across Feiansuo, other powers sent reinforcements—smaller, but significant.
The Kingdom of Cassander, led by a Titan Divine Offspring, sent an elite force of over 8,000—known as the “Solar Crown Force.” Their soldiers wore heavy armor and carried long spears of five-meter length—formidable in strength.
The City of All Arts dispatched over 120 battle-mages, including a highly respected, high-level mage who had once crafted legendary war spells.
Even Serrynia—still recovering from war and rebuilding from ruin—sent a disciplined force of Silver Moon Conquerors. Though small in number—only a hundred—they were well-trained and determined.
And among the front lines, even more individuals of good alignment stood—like the Cloud Giant warriors from Sky City.
But perhaps most critical of all was another group—the Players.
They did not belong to any formal army. They answered to no commander. Yet they possessed unmatched strength, staggering numbers, and elite guilds wielded forbidden weapons capable of bringing down dragons, striking fear into any enemy.
Even the arrogant Five-Colored Sinister Dragons would never dare underestimate these “Fallen Stars” from the Empire.
In the end, through the combined efforts of all powers, a force of unprecedented scale assembled in the north of the Lock Great Rift—its numbers exceeding a million, so vast it nearly swallowed the entire plateau, leaving the highlands choked and overwhelmed.
The Allied Forces were a tapestry of races, powers, and battalions—some once bitter enemies, now united on the same frontline.
Because they all knew one truth:
They could not allow Tiamat’s descent upon the Material Plane.
(End of Chapter)
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