Chapter 851: Heretical Dragon Knights
"Boom—"
With the thunderous crack of an Air Implosion, flames burned fiercely in the sky, coalescing into a massive, snarling Red Dragon that plummeted toward Philippe with terrifying speed.
Philippe merely smirked, a cold, menacing smile playing across his lips. He spread his arms wide, and from the Scepter of Woe, countless tendrils of pitch-black Divine Light erupted, swirling and gathering in midair to form a twisted, five-headed shadow—distorted, unnatural, and radiating dread.
Two opposing forces collided in the heavens, unleashing a cataclysmic aftermath. A fireball, hundreds of meters wide, detonated in the sky, its blazing core pulsing with dazzling Divine Radiance, entwined like threads of light and flame.
"Scum who stole the bloodline of the Mother God," Philippe sneered, "today is your death."
He brought the Scepter of Woe down with a whip-crack motion. Beneath him, the colossal Two-Headed Dragon’s eyes flared with crimson fire. With a roar so powerful it shook the sky, the beast flared its wings—spanning nearly a hundred meters—and tore through the radiant haze and choking smoke, charging toward Misha with unstoppable fury.
At the same time, a horde of mature and young Red Dragons, numbering in the dozens, surged forward, accompanied by thousands of fanatical Dragon-Worshiping Cultists. They swarmed around the giant beast like a churning storm, advancing toward the Allied Forces’ frontline with relentless momentum.
"For Tiamat!"
"Praise the mighty Mother of Monsters!"
"The old era ends—Dragon rule over the Earth is upon us!"
The Divine Light of Tiamat encased them all, driving them into a frenzied, fanatical state. They fought with no regard for life, desperate to earn the favor of the Five-Colored Dragon Queen, even if it meant sacrificing themselves in the flames.
Facing this overwhelming tide of heretical dragons, Misha only exhaled coldly. "Come and die."
Her gaze sharpened, golden vertical pupils flaring with blinding light. With a delicate flick of her slender fingers, she seemed to pluck at invisible threads in the air.
Behind her, over a hundred Dragon Oath Mages hovered in formation, chanting the Dragon Incantation in unison—deep, resonant voices that echoed like the breath of the world itself, as if commanding the very fabric of nature.
Then, the wind roared.
The heavens and earth trembled. From the void, a dozen fire tornadoes erupted—crimson pillars of flame, each connecting sky to earth, erupting like a wall of living fire to block the heretical advance.
The first wave of Cultists, caught unprepared, were instantly consumed by the maelstrom. The tornadoes tore through them with merciless precision, shredding flesh, splintering bone, and scattering scales like ash in the wind.
The Fire Tornadoes acted as meat grinders, annihilating every Cultist within range—no survivors, no mercy.
Behind the wall, the Empire’s fleet loomed, ready. Any Cultist who somehow breached the wind barrier was met with a storm of laser fire and rapid-fire cannons, reduced to a sieve before they could even scream.
But Philippe’s expression remained icy. He tapped his Scepter against the head of his Two-Headed Dragon. "Now it’s your turn, offspring of the Mother Goddess."
The beast roared again, its throat swelling. From deep within, a regiment of thick, black smoke poured forth—swirling, writhing, filled with countless distorted shadows trapped within, their agonized, mournful cries echoing through the air.
Each of these Colorful Dragon Beasts was forged from the lives of countless mortals. And naturally, they had absorbed the hatred, sorrow, and resentment of their victims—transforming it into a weapon of pure, unrelenting destruction.
"Boom—"
The black smoke surged forward like acid, devouring the magical wind wall. In moments, it carved a gaping hole, nearly a hundred meters wide, through the barrier.
Philippe raised his Scepter high, his voice echoing across the battlefield.
"Go! My people, the Five-Colored Dragon Queen’s chosen! Tear apart these arrogant Empire fools! Let their blood teach them—Dragon power is absolute!"
"ROOOOAAAAAARRR!"
Before the words faded, a flood of Cultists and Dragon Blood Monsters poured through the hole, forming a vast, mottled vortex in the sky.
Misha raised her hand, pointing toward the oncoming horde, her voice cold and commanding.
"Clear them out. The Emperor of the Ashen Flame is watching. Victory belongs to the Empire!"
"Boom!"
The sky split with thunderous explosions and the deafening roar of gunfire. The Empire fleet unleashed its full fury. On the ground, artillery units lifted their cannons, and torrents of bullets, shells, and flaming arrows rained down like a storm.
Hundreds of light beams crisscrossed the sky, scanning with mechanical precision. Each sweep sent hundreds of Cultists spiraling from the heavens—falling like wheat before a scythe.
The sky battlefield grew ever more intense. Corpses of Cultists and Dragon Blood Monsters rained down like black hail, piling onto the earth, forming grave mounds beneath the smoldering clouds.
On the vast ground battlefield, the situation was no better. Millions of soldiers clashed with dozens of Colorful Dragon Beasts. Every second, Allied soldiers were crushed to death, swallowed by dragon breath, or vaporized by sonic blasts.
The Colorful Dragon Beasts, grievously wounded, howled in agony. Dozens lay collapsed, their bodies kicking up massive dust storms that shook the earth with muffled, thunderous booms.
Meanwhile, the elite forces of the Dragon Worship Church joined the fray.
From the city of Sunset, the "Serpent Guard Corps" emerged—armored in dark, heavy dragon-scale armor, wielding poisoned longswords. They advanced in tight formation, a river of steel flowing across the battlefield, targeting the weakest point in the Allied defense.
"For the Mother of All Scales!"
Their voices hissed like venomous serpents, chilling the spine.
They moved with terrifying speed—slithering between cracks in the earth like snakes—within minutes, hundreds of Seleucus infantry were cut down, their heads flying, blood spraying skyward. Behind their visors, vertical pupils burned with frenzied hunger.
Then came the sound of air splitting.
Above, a squadron of armored Heretical Dragon Knights—riding monstrous beasts of dragon blood—swooped into view, screaming in euphoria as they launched a coordinated charge. With blinding speed, they swept over the battlefield, drawing their longswords—carved with grinning dragon heads—and slashing through Allied soldiers’ necks.
Dozens of heads flew into the air, blood spraying like rain.
With their joint assault, the Snake Guard and Heretical Dragon Knights tore a gaping rift in the Allied line.
The Heretical Dragon Knights hovered above, towering over the battlefield, their leader raising his longsword high.
"Rebels," he declared, voice like ice, "your end is only one thing—death!"
"Heretical Dragon Knights—attack!"
The longswords screamed through the air as the horde dove again, launching a storm-like assault on the Allied frontline.
But then—a roar.
A massive, aura-charged dragon roar erupted from the Allied frontlines, thundering through the sky with an overwhelming sense of intimidation.
The Heretical Dragon Knights froze. Their dragon mounts grimaced in pain, some even fainting mid-air.
In that instant, a new force arrived.
From the sky, a squadron of Crimson-Scaled Conquerors descended—clad in crimson armor, riding wyverns, their long spears gleaming with cold light. With swift, deadly precision, they pierced through the ranks of the Heretical Dragon Knights.
"For the Emperor!"
"For the Ember Empire!"
Their battle cries drowned out the dragon screams. The two forces collided like opposing rivers—Crimson-Scaled Conquerors swung their longswords, thrusting with their spears. In a single clash, they pierced through dozens of knights’ chests, severed the heads of over a hundred dragon beasts.
The remnants of the Heretical Dragon Knights tumbled from the sky, their bodies raining down in bloody fragments.
"Empire cavalry!" the Dragon Knight captain gasped, recovering from his daze. Fury twisted his face. He swung his dragon-headed longsword with everything he had, aiming to cut through the neck of a wyvern.
Just then—a piercing eagle’s cry.
He froze. Instinct screamed danger. He looked up—just in time to see a blazing longsword descending from above, hot as a sun, unstoppable.
His heart pounded. "How… is this possible?"
As a Dragon Knight captain, he possessed wisdom far beyond mortals. Yet, he had no defense against the ever-burning greatsword descending from above.
Because it belonged to the Crimson-Scaled Conqueror’s army commander—Emperor’s Duke, Alje. A master of horsemanship, a being of near-divine skill.
"Die!"
With a roar, the flaming sword cleaved down from the side and rear, severing the captain’s neck in one clean stroke. His head flew into the air, blood erupting skyward like a geyser.
Even in death, his face remained frozen in shock, despair, disbelief. How could he, the so-called favorite of Tiamat, be cut down in a single blow?
The headless corpse tumbled from the sky. Alje rode his Dragonvein Eagle, soaring above, his face as cold as stone. He didn’t even turn.
He tightened his grip on the flaming sword, its blade now pointed at the remaining Heretical Dragon Knights.
"For the Empire," he said, voice like steel. "Eliminate these cultists."
His command rang out. The Crimson-Scaled Conquerors split into groups, chasing the fleeing enemy like a crimson storm. In mere minutes, over a thousand Heretical Dragon Knights were shattered, their ranks collapsing into retreat—fleeing back toward Sunset City.
But retreat meant exposing their backs. And the Crimson-Scaled Conquerors would never let such an opportunity pass.
With triumphant shouts, they charged after them—hunting like lions chasing sheep—piercing through their ranks with ruthless precision.
A spear pierced through the back, tearing through the chest with brutal efficiency.
One by one, Heretical Dragon Knights fell from the sky, blood pouring down like a crimson rain, turning the heavens red.
Meanwhile, half the Crimson-Scaled Conquerors dove toward the ground. They moved like the wind—each charge like a blade cutting through the earth, claiming thousands of lives with every pass.
Facing the relentless aerial assault, the Snake Guard raged, but helplessly. They swung their poisoned swords wildly at the sky, hoping to strike the wyverns’ bellies.
But the Crimson-Scaled Conquerors were masters of killing on the ground. As they dived at breakneck speed, their ten-meter-long spears lanced through the air, skewering armored Snake Guards like meat on a spit—no chance to resist.
After several coordinated charges, the ground forces of the Dragon Cult were in shambles. Without their army’s cover, the Colorful Dragon Beasts were now fully exposed to the Allied siege.
"ROOOOAAAAARRR!"
The beasts howled in fury, lifting their red, green, and blue heads high. They unleashed torrents of flame, toxic mist, and lightning—crushing several Crimson-Scaled Conquerors from the sky.
Alje circled above, darting through the chaos, avoiding the fire with fluid, precise maneuvers. He narrowed his eyes, studying the monster below.
"Its breath is too dangerous. We must sever its head—now."
He raised his flaming sword.
"Crimson-Scaled Conquerors! Prepare for the Dragon Roar Charge! Objective: cut off all heads of this beast!"
"Second squad—Green Dragon Head!"
"Fourth squad—Blue Dragon Head!"
"Regiment commander—Red Dragon Head?"
Alje clenched his sword, riding his Dragonvein Eagle into a dive.
"That one," he said, voice blazing with battle fury, "is my prey."
"Shaaap—"
The Dragonvein Eagle shot across the sky, leaving a crimson afterimage. It plunged toward the most fearsome of the Colorful Dragon’s heads at impossible speed—so fast it blurred.
The beast roared in fury, opening its massive, blood-filled maw. A barrage of scorching fireballs erupted from its throat, streaking toward Alje.
But Alje danced through the air—rolling, twisting, diving—each movement a perfect evasion. The fireballs whistled past, missing by mere inches.
The beast roared again, its head soaring high, jaws gaping wide. A blinding inferno burst from its maw, thick smoke rolling like a storm cloud—threatening to consume the sky.
Facing the thermal surge that warped the air, Alje remained calm. He patted the side of his dragon eagle’s neck, then plunged straight into the smoke.
A deafening whistle filled the air.
Like a flaming spear, he pierced through the smoke, racing toward the beast’s head.
The dragon’s head sensed the intrusion. It snapped forward, jaws wide open, fangs dripping with sulfuric venom, trying to devour him.
But Alje dropped instantly, dodging the snapping maw. He closed in on its neck.
"Die!"
With a roar, he swung his sword—cutting through the air like a blade of wind. The blade sliced through scales, thick hide, and muscle, tearing open the beast’s throat.
"Puff!"
Scalding blood erupted like a fountain from the monster’s massive body, spraying skyward in a violent geyser.
(End of Chapter)
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