Atop the obsidian peak, Zaaman Rul gazed toward the distant sky, warped by scorching heat and smoke.
His eyes narrowed slightly, easily piercing through the veil of mirages to behold the true scene tens of thousands of meters away.
"A very powerful red dragon..."
He could not help but tighten his grip on the Sacred Flame Lance in his hand, speaking in a grave yet resonant voice.
"An evil creature, bearing the aura of the efreet. It seems a new enemy has arrived."
The Prince of Sacred Fire was not puzzled by the red dragon's appearance.
Imix was the Evil Archomental of Fire, whose followers included fire giants, red dragons, and spellcasters drawn to all forms of pyromancy.
To Zaaman Rul, this red dragon was a devotee who had answered Imix's summons, likely showered in gold by efreet slave masters as well—a formidable adversary who demanded close scrutiny in this Burning War.
Yet no matter how powerful his foes might be, Zaaman Rul knew no fear—let alone of a red dragon who was merely somewhat formidable.
He had plotted this vengeance for far too long. For ten thousand years, not a moment passed without him wishing to slay Imix and his wicked minions, to drive this very Sacred Flame Lance into the fiend's chest with his own hands.
And now, with the Grand Sultan of the Efreet severely wounded, victory seemed within reach.
Yet the ancient gold dragon standing in attendance beside him, Garoslav Goldglint, hesitated a moment before offering a word of caution: "Prince Zaaman, that red dragon... is very likely not our enemy."
"Oh? Why is that?"
Zaaman turned his head, a look of perplexity on his face.
"I wonder if you have heard the recent rumors concerning the 'Genie-Devouring Dragon.' The red dragon in the sky should be the one who slew Pasha Ismail."
Hearing this news, the hot-tempered Prince of Sacred Fire suddenly felt a surge of delight. He asked with eager haste:
"Haha! Does that mean... he is here to help us? Is he a champion of righteousness and good as well, discontent with the tyranny of the efreet?"
"It is hard to say."
The ancient gold dragon frowned slightly, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle.
"To my knowledge, this red dragon once battled my old friend Oszedro and routed him, yet at the same time, he refused Tiamat's invitation..."
"According to the view held within our kind, it is difficult to judge this red dragon by a simple alignment of 'good' or 'evil'; we can only do our best to win him over."
"Rumor also has it that he entered into a secret treaty with the Grand Sultan of the Efreet, the terms of which remain unknown to us."
"Is that so..."
The joy on Zaaman Rul's face flickered and vanished, replaced once more by solemn resolve.
He raised the Sacred Flame Lance with one hand, leveling its tip toward the City of Brass, his tone resolute and powerful.
"No matter what manner of wicked foe stands before me, I will strike him down! No one can quench the blazing Sacred Fire, nor can anyone prevent the Elemental Plane of Fire from returning to the embrace of order and goodness!"
"Prince Zaaman, I can already see the fall of the City of Brass! Your vision is about to become reality!"
The ancient gold dragon nodded lightly, his voice ringing with excitement.
Zaaman Rul hoisted his lance high, shouting to the slaves he had liberated in Ignan—a tongue composed of crackling hisses and clicking pops like roaring fire:
"Sacred Fire! My loyal subjects! For the justice and order of the entire Elemental Plane of Fire, for the freedom and liberation of all elemental beings—seize the City of Brass! Overthrow the tyranny of the Grand Sultan of the Efreet!"
"Prince of Sacred Fire!"
"Overthrow the efreet tyranny!"
Cheers surged like rolling tides. Flanked by the liberated thralls, the fire elemental lord advanced toward the City of Brass.
Meanwhile, the efreet, devils, and elemental nobles of the City of Brass stood poised in full battle array.
War was about to erupt.
...
High in the sky, Cassius had received the coordinates for Plane Shift sent by Trump and was preparing to teleport back to the Material Plane.
"Time to leave this place."
"That Prince of Sacred Fire probably bears little hostility toward me, but that other presence emanating from the City of Brass... feels rather familiar."
The corners of Cassius's mouth curved upward, a subtle smile creeping onto his draconic visage.
He nodded politely toward the City of Brass and said calmly, "Good day, Your Majesty the Grand Sultan. We meet again."
"Cassius—"
"Leave this place!"
"How dare you come to the City of Brass! Do you intend to breach our covenant? Do not say I did not warn you! That would incur the wrath of the planar laws!"
"Get out of the Heart of Fire!!"
The exasperated, furious bellow roared from afar like thunder, reverberating across the obsidian continent.
It was no wonder he panicked; the Prince of Sacred Fire was poised to assault the city, and the sudden intervention of such a red dragon would undoubtedly tip the scales of battle.
Cassius flapped his wings, feeling the spatial ripples around him.
"I have always honored covenants and cherished peace. It never crossed my mind to meddle in your war with the Prince of Sacred Fire. I merely came to behold the legendary City of Brass and, while I was at it—bid you farewell."
"Since you are so unwelcoming, I shall take my leave."
The red dragon grinned and bowed his head in polite farewell.
The next moment, power capable of rending space surged forth. A Gate slowly opened before him, connecting to an ether conduit leading straight to the Great Anzetta Waste of the Material Plane.
"Farewell then... Your Majesty the Grand Sultan."
Cassius stepped into the portal. Space smoothed back to normal, and even the Gate vanished without leaving behind a trace.
"Curse that greedy, wretched dragon!"
The Grand Sultan's furious roar echoed through the City of Brass, carrying even to the battlefields outside its walls.
"Haha, I'm starting to like this dragon. To think he could drive the efreet Sultan to such frantic rage!"
Zaaman Rul laughed heartily.
Suddenly, he noticed a peculiar wisp of flame drifting before him, piquing his curiosity given his exceptional mastery over elemental forces.
"What is this?"
*Whoosh—*
The flame unfurled like an envelope, shaping into a line of small characters written in Common midair.
"To the Prince of Sacred Fire:
Greetings! Should you require arms and munitions or wish to discuss cooperation, please visit the Brass Fortress. —Cassius"
"An intriguing fellow."
Zaaman Rul narrowed his eyes slightly, casually absorbing the flaming letters with a flick of his hand.
...
Meanwhile, inside the Brass Fortress.
A half-dragon clad in standard-issue fireproof gear was rattling on endlessly inside the palace of the fire dwarves. He was the "special envoy" dispatched by the Cinder Empire.
Above his head floated the nickname Turbocharged Engine Fighter—evidently a player from the Machine Cult.
"Lord Shalin, do you know why the population in the Brass Fortress is so sparse? In my opinion, the main issue lies in the way you fire dwarves reproduce."
Shalin's mouth twitched. "Lord Envoy, this was decreed by the dwarven god..."
The player waved his hand dismissively. "Don't lecture me about historical tradition. If you don't break the inertia of history, where will development and innovation come from? Where will progress come from?"
"..."
Shalin was left at a loss for words.
Yet the player continued rambling to himself: "Your forging efficiency is far too low! Taking several whole years just to craft a single new fire dwarf!"
"If you ask me, you ought to set up an assembly line for die-casting! The Imperial Department of Technology can provide the technical support."
"If you lack the equipment, you could just go straight for lost-wax casting! You could churn out a whole legion of cloned fire dwarves in one go—who says the fire dwarf race can't achieve a renaissance?"
"Sigh! You've already cast aside flesh and blood to achieve the initial stages of mechanical ascension! What pristine conditions! And you've utterly squandered them!"
Turbocharged Engine Fighter looked at him with sheer exasperation, earnest and impassioned as he tried to persuade the fire dwarf noble.
Shalin scratched his head. "However, according to our experience, the body must be crafted personally by a fire dwarf."
The player tapped his own head. "You millennia-old relics have far too rigid a mindset! Loopholes abound in clauses like that!"
"Does pressing the die-cast button with your own hands count as crafting personally? Does pouring the mold yourself count as crafting personally?"
Shalin murmured, "But... that might not necessarily count..."
The player grinned. "If none of that counts, then hammering away with an intermediary like a 'hammer'—how does that count as 'with your own hands'?"
"Trust me! Give me three months, and with my ten years of experience as an automation veteran, I'll definitely design a fully automated birthing machine for you!"
"Besides, your borders are open now! Plenty of big shots in our Machine Cult are keenly interested in the fire dwarf form of life. They'll definitely help you iron out these flaws!"
Turbocharged Engine Fighter spoke with feverish enthusiasm.
Shalin swallowed hard and, under the watchful gaze of the imperial guards, slowly nodded in agreement.
The gates to a new world were about to swing open before the fire dwarves.
Chapter 465