Duoluo

Dragonscale Fortress, on the Imperial Wall. This was the most critical nexus of the entire defensive line, as well as the joint command headquarters for this war. From within this bastion, the leadership of the Imperial Military Ministry surveyed the overall situation, devising tactics and coordinating every sector, overseeing departments for operations, training, reconnaissance, communications, military affairs, and more. At this moment, a heavy solemnity hung within Dragonscale Fortress. Magical projections of each defensive sector flickered across the fortress walls, and right now, every single one was overrun by hideous, contorted demons. Almost all the senior officers sat in grim silence at their stations, upright and rigid, their eyes fixed in unison upon the magical displays. There were too many. The horde of demons was simply overwhelming, carpeting the plains and hills as far as the eye could see, without end. Even these battle-hardened imperial officers had never encountered an enemy on such a scale. "Phoo—" Imperial Field Marshal Duoluo stood with his back to them, a cigarette between his lips. His expression remained hidden; only the plumes of exhaled smoke and his towering silhouette could be seen. "Speak your minds. I trust you've all seen them—those demons." "This..." Serving as military advisor, Adrovel stared at the surging demonic tide with the look of someone who had seen a ghost. Even for an adult silver dragon who had spent years fighting on the front lines against fiends, he had never witnessed such a terrifying sight. "Rift demons, goristros, nalfeshnees, mariliths..." He identified them carefully, reciting the fiendish names with practiced familiarity. "And even... a balor." At this point, Adrovel could not help murmuring, "By Bahamut... a demonic invasion of this magnitude... "Truth be told, an abyssal host like this hasn't appeared on the Material Plane in over a thousand years. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have sworn I'd walked onto the battlefields of the Blood War in Avernus." Adrovel's lament was heartfelt, for it was nothing less than the truth. There were far too many demons in this abyssal legion, and among the swarm lurked many mid-tier and even high-tier horrors. It was no exaggeration to say that a mere tenth of this horde would easily be enough to annihilate the former Northern United Kingdom and conquer all of Anzeta. Yet their enemy now was the Empire. The Cinder Empire. A realm ruled by a great dragon, a terrifying war machine, a paradise for the mighty and the ambitious. Duoluo was supremely confident. In his mind, even a colossal host of abyssal fiends could not shake the empire in the slightest. Adrovel cautioned in a low voice, "Lord Duoluo, whether in numbers or sheer might, these fiends are beyond what mortal forces can repel... At least, I have never seen an invasion like this. To minimize our losses, perhaps you should yield the brunt of the assault and consider with—" "Retreat?" Duoluo sneered. "Like a coward? Scurrying away with our tails between our legs before the fighting even starts? That is not the way of the imperial people." Adrovel shook his head, looking grave. "No, that's not what I mean. The Empire's territory is vast; we could trade space for time and muster greater reinforcements..." "Enough, Lord Adrovel." The dragonblood hobgoblin marshal raised a single hand, hot smoke venting from his nostrils. The corners of his tusky maw curled upward, a faint glint dancing in his small, murky eyes as a sinister grin spread across his hideous face. "You may know abyssal demons well, but you do not know the Cinder Empire. And you certainly do not understand the pride rooted in every imperial heart." Duoluo turned around, flicked the cigarette to the ground, and crushed it thoroughly underfoot. The hobgoblin's voice rose, simmering with long-suppressed fury. "For over a decade, I have watched with my own eyes as the Cinder Empire expanded through battle after battle under the leadership of the invincible Emperor Cassius, growing ever mightier with every triumph. And this time, even if our foes are abyssal fiends, there will only ever be one outcome: victory! And if victory eludes us, then we cast ourselves gloriously into death!" At his words, every senior officer in the fortress—whether human, hobgoblin, tiefling, ogre, or lizardfolk—rose as one, pressing a clenched fist over their heart. Loyalty! Give our hearts to the Empire! Gazing around at the zealously devoted officers ready to die for the Empire, Adrovel felt momentarily dazed, at a loss for words. He had yet to adjust to the Empire's distinct culture, still habitually regarding it through the lens of a conventional human realm—which was patently foolish. Duoluo drew the longblade from his waist, his face fierce and frenzied as he barked an order word by word to the courier at the door: "Tell them to hold nothing back! Go straight to saturated artillery coverage! "We've pinched pennies and hoarded shells for so long... This time, I'm going to have a damn good time giving these abyssal mongrels a taste of imperial artillery!" The hobgoblin's eyes burned blood-red, bursts of white steam venting from his snout as he panted in fierce excitement. The other senior officers were equally eager, anticipation shining in every pair of disparate eyes. *This is... the Empire.* Adrovel marvelled inwardly. The seemingly unstoppable demonic tide didn't appear quite so terrifying anymore. *** The mere existence of abyssal demons was a curse. They corrupted their surroundings over time, transforming the mortal world into an abyssal playground. Across this cursed wasteland, chaotic evil souls drifted ceaselessly. Blood seeped from fissures in the earth, and gore-drenched organs sprouted from the soil. Once-gentle forest deer now had blood-red eyes, madly ramming into everything in sight until they battered themselves to death. Hundreds of thousands of fiends jammed together, surging north in reckless frenzy, their shrill, chaotic shrieks enough to make any living soul tremble. Wherever they passed, all living things were slaughtered, leaving behind only shattered ruins and sickening stains of blood. At the rear of the demonic tide, perched upon a throne of flesh and bone atop an abyssal drake— Leo Bosque looked into the distance, eyeing the fortifications ahead with malice and scorn burning in his eyes. "Heheheh... So you know fear after all... "Yet... such laughable toys cannot withstand the great abyssal legions, much less halt my revenge." His fiendish body trembled as his thoroughly corrupted mind conjured the image of that red dragon being torn to shreds by his own hands. He pointed his blazing longsword toward the north, roaring to the demons surrounding him, "Warriors of the Abyss! Crush them! Tear them down completely—" *Swoooosh—!* A shrill, piercing sound tore through the air. Hearing that familiar shriek, the former Grand Duke Leo realized in an instant—it was the whistle of high-altitude artillery shells plunging down. Immediately, along the entire defensive line, that howling screech that still haunted Northlanders' nightmares came tearing through the sky. *BOOM!* The earth quaked and flames erupted. A colossal explosion detonated amidst the surging demonic tide, blooming like a dreadful flower and instantly vaporizing over a hundred dretches on the spot. *Howl!* The fiends caught within the blast radius had time only for a single agonizing screech before being engulfed by the explosion. Yet this was merely the beginning. *BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!* The ground shuddered violently as a dense barrage detonated continuously, weaving a rolling sea of fire across the vast plain. "Not good..." "No—this is wrong! How can their cannons affect higher demons?!" Leo muttered, trembling all over. Unbearable memories seemed to claw their way back into his mind, dredging up the nightmare of the Northlands falling under artillery fire.