The Fall of the Northlands

"Ye gods..." Viscount Luton murmured to himself once more, his face illuminated by the light. Beams of sunlight pierced through fissures in the cloud cover, faint and soft at first, before gradually turning fierce and brilliant until golden radiance bathed the land. The rosy clouds in the sky were dyed gold as well, only to dissipate swiftly with the wind. Down upon the ground, the female cleric raised her scepter high. *Sacred Sun Combustion.* This was originally a divine spell used by the Fadlan Empire during rituals to display majestic miracles, yet now it was being used in service of a red dragon. With the appearance of this magnificent spectacle, the mournful ballad that had echoed across the battlefield gradually died down. The Northland nobles, the coalition soldiers, and even the host from the Cinder Nest raised their heads, gazing unblinkingly at the sky. "Roar—" A long, drawn-out roar resonated once more, and a near-tangible draconic aura washed outward. In an instant, the wasteland fell dead silent. A massive red dragon over thirty meters in length beat his wings in the heavens, stirring up squalls of gale-force winds. His metallic crimson scales gleamed brilliantly under the sunlight. With every beat of his wings, the surrounding air warped and trembled from the searing heat, as though the sky itself bowed in submission to him. Luton stared at the sight in the sky and could not help shielding his eyes with his hand—uncertain whether the light was simply too piercing, or if the being in the high heavens was something mortals were forbidden to gaze upon directly. His lips quivered slightly, his whole body shaking. "A-again, just like before..." "No, it's not the same..." "He has grown even more powerful, far more terrifying than in my memories." Viscount Luton shook his head gently, his brows tightly furrowed as he muttered beneath his breath. Having lived through the Trier Massacre himself, the sights of that day had surfaced countless times in Viscount Luton's mind, becoming an inescapable nightmare. And now, a new nightmare was about to be born. "Ye gods..." "W-will he kill us?" "I don't know." "We can only wait." The remaining Northland nobles and soldiers also stood frozen in place. Even as spears and swords slipped from their hands, no one moved to pick them up—for there was simply no point. Even if an army of tens of thousands remained, even if they held fine weapons and ample provisions, before this red dragon, it was utterly futile. Resistance was meaningless. Who could turn a blade against a natural calamity? The people gazed at the heavens for a long, long time, this single thought arising in all of their hearts. Cassius hovered high in the sky, looking down at the trembling masses below, a faint light flickering in his pale golden pupils. His voice was not loud, yet it carried across the wasteland, ringing clearly in the ears of everyone on the battlefield. "The Northlands have fallen..." "Cinders endure forever." His tone held little inflection, sounding more like an icy proclamation. This was an obituary for the demise of the Northlands, as well as a declaration of the Kingdom of Cinders' new order. "No..." "Why? How did it come to this?" With a thud, Viscount Luton collapsed to his knees, hanging his head in utter despair. An irrepressible wail tore from his throat, his tears soaking the dirt beneath him. Even now, he could not bring himself to believe this nightmarish reality. Luton Siegel had been born in Stravburg, inheriting a fief of his own under the aegis of his forebears. He was fond of studying Northland history, often conversed with scholars across the realm, and had grown accustomed to living within high Northland society. Ten years. A mere ten years. That red dragon from the north had risen miraculously, establishing a terrifying kingdom. Beneath the vanguard of the Kingdom of Cinders, the realm where he had grown up was extinguished, and the Northland aristocratic order upon which he depended for survival was about to crumble into dust. "It's over..." "The Northlands have fallen! The Northlands have fallen!" "Ye gods... is this our punishment?" "Doomsday! This is doomsday!" Many Northland nobles in the coalition ranks wore the same despairing expressions. Some collapsed limp to the ground, some went pale as death, some were paralyzed with disbelief, and some even succumbed to madness, laughing and weeping hysterically. For a time, wails and mournful cries echoed throughout the coalition lines. They knew everything was over. The old order would be torn down and rebuilt from scratch. All that was obsolete and decadent would be completely shattered, including themselves—the Northland nobility that had ruled Anzeta for nearly a millennium. Meanwhile, a roaring wave of cheers abruptly erupted from the ranks of the Kingdom of Cinders, like an ignited powder keg releasing a blast of scorching heat. Whether goblins, ogres, or tieflings, all raised their weapons high and roared in jubilation. The wyverns threw back their heads and shrieked, while the blue dragons and white dragons unleashed ecstatic roars of their own. "Cinders endure forever!" "Roar—" "Invincible!" "For the Kingdom of Cinders!" "Your Majesty Cassius! Your Majesty!" Even the players were swept up in the fervent atmosphere, howling like wolves and wailing like ghosts, though their lines were rather bizarre. "Die, kingdom scum!" "For Faction Contribution and gold coins!" "Lord Cassius is so handsome, I wanna hug that tail..." Amidst the excited throng of players, Mantou held the reins of his wyvern, his face long and miserable. "I haven't even farmed that much contribution," he grumbled dejectedly. "How can it be over already?" With a command from Marshal Duoluo, the army of the Kingdom of Cinders marched forward once more, their disciplined strides steadily closing the distance to the coalition lines. The river trembled; the earth shook. Yet this time, they met not the slightest resistance. The coalition forces had entirely lost the will to fight. They merely stood waiting in silence for the Kingdom of Cinders' army to arrive, a despairing hush permeating their ranks. When the kingdom's troops finally drew up before the coalition, a Northland noble was driven mad by the crushing pressure. Losing all reason, he charged alone against the army of the Kingdom of Cinders. He screamed, "You monsters! I am of noble blood, I—" Accompanied by a dense volley of gunfire, the mad noble was turned into a sieve, his corpse riddled with bullet holes. High in the sky, the red dragon paid no heed to the minor commotion on the ground. His broad wings cast a vast shadow over the wasteland, and his vertical slits reflected the battered, devastated battlefield. *It is finally over.* *The Great Anzetta Waste is mine.* Cassius thought to himself. A golden trophy stood erect within his mind: *Nation Destroyer* ... "It was a battle of utter despair. The legendary 'Wings of Silver' plunged to the earth, the heroes of Fadlan perished to the last man, and the intrepid Leo Bosque vanished without a trace." "Even the radiance of Mount Celestia could not halt his wrath—the Northern Kingdom, which had ruled Anzeta for nearly a thousand years, was thus brought to ruin, and the people of the Northlands fell beneath the dragon's dominion, reduced to slaves manipulated by his ambition." —*Secret History of Anzeta: The Fall of the Northlands*, Duke Luton ... "An era of prosperity and glory is at hand. This marks yet another momentous milestone in the empire's grand blueprint, as His Invincible Majesty has once again secured a glorious victory..." —*Imperial Archives: Official History of the Northern United Kingdom*, Citizen Luton Siegel