Chapter 817: Dragon Magic and Shell
Yet just as the scene unfolded, the Wasteland beyond the Lock Great Rift trembled. A dust storm, stretching for over ten kilometers, surged from the horizon’s edge, overwhelming and apocalyptic—like the end of the world itself was approaching.
Within the swirling storm, countless terrifying shadows emerged—faint outlines of horns and claws barely visible—manifestations of Evil Dragon Descendants, stretching endlessly into the distance. Their numbers must have reached millions, surging forward like a tidal wave, a flood of monstrous fury, advancing relentlessly toward the Allied Forces’ frontline position.
Beneath them, followers of the Dragon Worship Church clad in deep blue long robes rode atop the towering backs of the Evil Dragon Descendants, roaring as they charged. Above, countless dragons obeying the will of the Five-Colored Dragon Queen bellowed in the sky, their auras blazing with divine power.
Amidst the deafening roar, Jude Gonzalez, Archbishop of the Blue Dragon Sect, hovered in the sky atop a Storm Dragon. He spread his arms wide, revealing beneath his hood a fearsome face—scales covering his skin, a perfect hybrid of human and dragon. His voice rang out, passionate and thunderous, echoing across the rift.
“People of Tiamat! The moment to prove your loyalty has come! Destruct those wretched rebels! Let them scream beneath the shadow of the Dragon!”
His voice carried with it the weight of authority, and as he spoke, the dark clouds above churned endlessly, rapidly expanding and coalescing into vast, terrifying dragon faces that loomed across the heavens.
“For the Eternal One!”
“For Tiamat!”
“The mortal kingdoms shall be annihilated! The Great Dragon shall reign over the world!”
The cultists, eyes wild with frenzy, brandished their weapons atop their monstrous steeds, screaming in voices that shattered the air.
Around Jude, jagged arcs of electric light flickered and danced. He glared across the rift at the Allied Forces, raised the Dragonhead Scepter, and his eyes flared with furious lightning sparks. His voice roared like rolling thunder, heavy with oppressive power.
“Filthy scum! You stole the strength of the Dragon Queen! How dare you stand in the path of His Majesty’s descent!”
“I shall grant you destruction in the name of the Mother of Monsters!”
Boom!
A sharp, echoing gunshot tore through the rift. The Empire’s sniper, perched atop a fortified ridge, held a rifle whose barrel was as thick as a machine gun. Smoke curled from the muzzle.
The bullet, traveling at unimaginable speed, struck the Archbishop’s chest—only to be deflected by a protective spell. Though the spell absorbed most of the impact, the sheer kinetic force still knocked Jude backward, nearly throwing him from his Storm Dragon.
From a distance, a military researcher lowered his telescope, shaking his head in mild disappointment. “Spell penetration still isn’t sufficient. There’s room for improvement.”
On the northern slope of the Lock Great Rift, Marshal Dolo raised a megaphone and spoke with cold, merciless sarcasm:
“Fool. If I were you, I wouldn’t be making such bold speeches before the Empire’s elite forces.”
To be exposed in front of so many followers—this was unbearable humiliation for Jude. His eyes flared crimson, his rage so intense it seemed to crackle in the air. Lightning arced wildly from his pupils. With a thunderous swing of the Dragonhead Scepter, he summoned the terrifying divine power bestowed by the Five-Colored Dragon Queen, unleashing a cataclysmic thunderstorm.
“Infamous, treacherous Empire scum! Attack! Tear them apart!”
Before he could finish, the tide of Evil Dragon Descendants and cultists surged forward, their battle cries shaking the heavens—proud, thunderous, and unstoppable.
On the other side of the rift, the Allied Forces’ frontline position buzzed with precision. Ogre artillery units from the Empire swiftly loaded shells, meticulously aligning their aim with flawless efficiency.
On the high platform, a Dragonblood Goblin waved a casual hand and barked cold orders:
“All units—open fire!”
The earth trembled. Thousands of cannons fired in unison.
Dozens of shells, trailing thick smoke and blazing flames, erupted from the gaping muzzles of hundreds of cannons, weaving through the sky in a vast, overwhelming net—like a storm of fire and iron descending upon the enemy front.
Each shell followed a near-perfect parabolic trajectory, crossing the profound chasm and striking the Dragon Worship Cult’s frontline with devastating force.
Boom!
Boom! Boom!
Explosions roared in cascading waves. Fireballs bloomed across the battlefield, dust and debris soaring skyward. Powerful shockwaves rippled outward. The cries of the wounded and dying mingled with the thunderous roar.
Dozens of charred corpses and severed limbs were flung into the air. In just one barrage, thousands fell.
And the Empire wasn’t limited to ground artillery. From foxholes far off, rows of anti-aircraft guns lifted their muzzles, unleashing a relentless barrage of fragmentation shells.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sky erupted in a storm of gunfire. The shells surged upward, cutting through the air toward the advancing Five-Colored Dragons, Storm Dragons, and Scorpion Lions.
These shells were masterpieces of Imperial Weaponry Research Institute—extremely high-penetration rounds, specifically designed to pierce scales. Tests confirmed they could even breach the hide of a young Green Dragon. Their power was terrifying.
A young Blue Dragon, still not fully matured, had just been roaring triumphantly, claiming he’d devour the Silver Moon Elves like breakfast.
Then—like a storm of iron—Empire shells rained down.
In an instant, his scales shattered. Blood blossomed across his body in crimson sprays.
He roared in disbelief: “How?! How can I be hurt by such things?! Dragon scales are stronger than any shield!”
Enraged beyond reason, the young Blue Dragon lunged toward the human gunners below, eyes blazing with electric arcs. “You insignificant insects! How dare you—”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
His roar was meant to terrify. But the answer was only more relentless artillery fire.
Trapped in a net of overlapping firepower, his body was riddled with holes. His wings were torn to shreds, leaking air with every beat.
With a final, agonized scream, he plummeted from the sky, crashing into the bottomless chasm of the Lock Great Rift. A muffled, thunderous boom echoed from the abyss—then silence.
This was the first pure-blooded Great Dragon to die in the war—but certainly not the last.
“Marshal Dolo,” said Dionysius, “only the Metal Dragon Race can stand against these evil kin.”
“No,” Dolo replied calmly, “wait a little longer. The Empire’s offensive has not ended.”
“But ordinary weapons can’t pierce those heretical dragons. If they cross the rift—”
Dionysius had been arguing fiercely with the Great Goblin, but when he turned, he saw a young Red Dragon drifting helplessly above the rift, struggling to maintain balance amid the storm of artillery. It was already spiraling down, screaming as it fell into the deep abyss.
The Ancient Gold Dragon’s face was frozen in shock. The power of these weapons was beyond comprehension—how could they shatter dragon scales?
Beside him, Dolo crossed his arms, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips.
“I told you. This terrain is ideal for the Imperial Army. Any who attempt to cross will pay a terrible price.”
Dionysius nodded slightly, but his face betrayed no joy. In his amber eyes, a flicker of unease—almost imperceptible—lingered.
The Empire was their ally now. But the future? That was uncertain.
If even the Five-Colored Sinister Dragons’ scales could be shattered by Imperial artillery, what fate awaited the Metal Dragon Race if they ever stood against the Empire?
To Dionysius, Dolo wasn’t just fighting enemies—he was delivering a message. A warning. To him, to the Metal Dragon Race, to King Bahamut himself.
The Emperor was showing them: The Empire has the confidence to stand against the Dragon race.
“Beware the strange iron balls! Don’t let them hit you!”
“Damn Empire scum!”
The Five-Colored Dragons circled above, but having witnessed the fates of those who had fallen into the rift, they hesitated—frozen in fear, unwilling to dive.
Jude clenched his teeth. “Enough! We cannot stand idle! Destroy those cursed weapons!”
“For the mighty Mother of Monsters! Let Thunderbolt strike down the world!”
The evil priests raised their scepters. Dark clouds swelled, devouring the sky above the Allied Forces’ front. Lightning, blinding and colossal, crackled within the storm.
Boom!
The sky split open. Lightning bolts, as wide as cups, struck down with apocalyptic force. Multiple heavy cannons were obliterated. Dozens of Imperial artillerymen were vaporized, reduced to ash.
Across the rift, a massive group of Blue Dragon Descendants lowered their heads, their horns crackling with electricity.
Boom!
Lightning erupted from their horns, lancing across the chasm. Over a hundred fully armored Imperial soldiers were engulfed in blinding flashes—reduced to blackened, lifeless remains.
The Dragon Worship Church’s counterattack did inflict losses on the Empire—but compared to the sheer devastation wrought by Imperial fire suppression, it was negligible.
From the moment the war began, every second, every minute, saw more and more Dragon Descendants and cultists consumed by the Empire’s relentless bombardment.
“By Tiamat!”
“How can the Empire do this?!”
Dolo knew: as long as the cultists stayed on the far side of the rift, the Empire’s long-range striking power would guarantee absolute superiority. If they were forced to cross, they would suffer devastating casualties.
And that was precisely why Dolo, the nominal “attacker,” had chosen this defensible terrain as the main battlefield.
He knew that under the weight of Imperial bombardment, the Dragon Worship Church would either retreat… or be forced into a desperate, armored assault.
Sure enough, after a brief moment of hesitation, Jude raised the Dragonhead Scepter, his voice dark and commanding.
“Then so be it. Cross the rift. Engage the cursed Allied Forces in melee! Let the Dragon’s body crush these fragile insects!”
At his command, a dozen evil priests and shamans chanted incantations, unleashing spells. The earth trembled violently. Rock and soil erupted into the air, forming towering stone pillars that rose from the rift’s edge.
They surged forward like living stone dragons, merging into massive, arching bridges spanning the chasm.
Meanwhile, Blue Dragon Descendant Slayers—clad in dragonbone shields, wielding electrified longswords—roared in fury, charging toward the enemy’s frontline.
“Filthy vermin!”
“Shake beneath the divine power of Tiamat!”
As elite shock troops, these warriors were overwhelming in strength and speed. Towering and armored in scale, they could leap four or five meters in a single stride, charging at terrifying speed. Once inside the enemy’s frontline, they would unleash mass slaughter, shattering the defensive line.
But they met the Empire’s defenders.
The other side was already fortified—sandbags stacked high, hundreds of the latest machine guns mounted in emplacements, muzzles trained directly on the stone bridge.
“Open fire!”
Da-da-da-da-da!
A storm of bullets erupted—intense, relentless, forming a lethal net of metal fire. The torrent of bullets instantly engulfed the Blue Dragon Descendants.
Their bone shields shattered. Bullets pierced their bodies. Before they could even roar, they collapsed mid-charge, tumbling from the bridge, bodies breaking apart on the rocks below.
“Annihilate them! For the Empire!”
“Keep firing!”
“Don’t let these Empire dogs intimidate us! They can’t last! Forward! Charge!”
One by one, cultists and Dragon Descendants surged forward—only to be cut down in a hail of gunfire. They fell, one after another, plummeting into the darkness of the abyss.
Within moments, the bottom of the rift was piled high with corpses—forming crude hills. Still-warm blood pooled and flowed like rivers, gurgling through the cracks.
Watching the endless stream of soldiers falling, Jude screamed, his voice shattering the air:
“Fear not! Forward! You are warriors chosen by the Dragon Queen! Even in death, your spiritual souls will ascend to the Divine Realm, to eternal bliss!”
The cultists, fearless in the face of death, brandished their swords and charged forward, one after another, driven by blind devotion.
And the Evil Dragon Descendants—born as weapons of Tiamat, cruel and bloodthirsty, utterly fearless of death—charged with feral glint in their eyes, roaring with hunger.
There were too many. Even hundreds of machine guns weaving a deadly net couldn’t stop them all. The monsters behind pressed forward, using their fallen comrades as shields, finally reaching the northern bank.
Some Blue Dragon Descendants even scaled the sides and underbelly of the stone bridge, slipping past the gunfire.
“Marshal Dolo,” Adrian said, drawing his longsword. “They’re almost ashore. Let the Seleucus forces go and slaughter them.”
But Dolo shook his head once more. “Not yet. We can still wear down their numbers.”
Adrian stared at the bridge. It was now swarming with Blue Dragon Descendants—so thick they looked like a living blue carpet. Hundreds of them, flooding forward like a released floodgate.
Then—suddenly—a deafening roar split the air.
Boom!
Flames engulfed the bridge. The central section exploded and collapsed. The entire stone structure crumbled into ruin. Rocks and screaming monsters tumbled into the abyss below.
(End of Chapter)
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